


Nobody grabbed, nobody pulled

by whosays_penultimate



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambivalent Will, Angst, Cannibalism, Codependency, Conflicted Will, Dark Will but not really, Death Wish, Gothic Elements, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal really wants to teach Will a lesson, Happy Ending, Lots of dialogue, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Manipulative Will, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mind Games, Murder, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Violence, Will and Hannibal love to throw words at each other, Will is basically fucked up but he tries, but he tries too, mind palace sexy times, references to mythology, threats of mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 112,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosays_penultimate/pseuds/whosays_penultimate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate and circumstance have a way of conspiring to bring Will Graham closer and closer to the man he called a friend, a monster, an arch enemy, his paddle, his way out of dark places and his infernal guide through the bowels of hell. And so, and perhaps inevitably, a lover. But is the fault really written in the stars, or in Will’s own self? </p><p>And is the clock ticking forwards, or backwards? Or has it stopped altogether?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Scratch the itch of writing Post-WOTL fic, they said. It will be fun, they said...

The sky trembled above Will in a perverse mirror of the sea. He was being held above the water, just barely. Pulled roughly onto the sand. A jagged rock found its way into the soft skin of his back, forcing more unwelcome awareness of the surroundings. The waves loomed dark and restless on the edges of his vision, but only remotely threatening. He could hear his own shuddering breath, and felt strangely dissociated from it. The air smelled of rain and he imagined he could see a faint light in the distance, which he had an absurd desire to swim towards. It felt as if Death was an enticing siren forever swimming out of his reach.

He looked at his saviour with horror, taking in his appearance. Hannibal Lecter looked disheveled and hurt, but his eyes were clear, if slightly dulled with pain, and most importantly, despite Will's best efforts, he looked very shockingly alive. Will's gaze remained transfixed on Hannibal's arms, imagining the strength with which they could kill, squeeze the life out of him, and which had now, in a twisted mockery of his wishes, propelled him to unwanted safety.

"You're the devil", Will finally murmured, his tone as much accusing as reverent.

Hannibal gave an imperceptible eyeroll at Will's simplicity.

"I have been called that before", he acquiesced.

"To have survived", Will continued, "the gunshot to the abdomen, the fall - it is highly unlikely in itself. But to have survived and dragged yourself - and me - to shore, to safety, is _impossible._ "

"Maybe not so much", Hannibal countered. My survival is as much your failure as it is my success. Your heart wasn't in it. Although I must commend you for the dramatic beauty of the attempt."

"The beauty would have been in its success". There was weary bitterness in Will's voice, which seemed to amuse Hannibal.

"Apparently God is malicious that way", he answered with relish, always a point of satisfaction to prove the dark designs of a divinity he did not worship but wholeheartedly believed in.

Will did not reply, but Hannibal continued conversationally, as if they were sitting down in his office for a therapy session:

"Was it, you think, the force of hell that pushed me onward with glee, or the force of heaven denying us a peaceful end?"

"The answer to that would be _yes,_ I believe", Will answered slowly, echoing a previous conversation. "You forced open the ligament of the universe and climbed back inside." He paused. "I can't imagine your death", he adds. "I can't imagine a hole large enough in the fabric of the world that would contain your absence."

Hannibal's lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

"It's the only failure of imagination I've seen you achieve so far, Will."

"Don't call me that. I'm not Will anymore, Will is dead."

"How should I call you, then?

"I would prefer you didn't call me anything."

"Interesting. Names have magic power. Some cultures believe knowledge of one's true name gives power over that person. By denying me your name, are you implying that I have power over you?"

"I am denying you altogether", Will said, with a conviction he did not feel.

"What about the monster inside of you, now momentarily sated and appeased by blood, but very much alive, now slumbering, right here-" Hannibal reached out and pressed his palm, heavy and warm over Will's freezing chest, causing him to flinch, "do you feel him right here?" he whispered, quietly intimate, "hovering just beneath this mild surface, waiting to emerge and rejoice in the lust of killing, and you - calling it beautiful?"

"God, please, stop talking", Will pleaded, shuddering. "You have done more harm by talking than others have by killing."

Hannibal's hand moved to Will's shoulder, fingers expertly assessing the damage of the knife wound.

"I have done my share of killing, as well", he reminded Will, on a patient tone. "As have you."

"Yes", Will agreed. "And for that, I've forgiven you."

"You have forgiven me for your own sins", Hannibal chuckled.

"Yes. As I have forgiven myself for yours."

Hannibal nodded, understanding Will's meaning.

"But never for the harm caused by my words?" he inquired.

"No. Never for that."

A quiet sniff, the Devil himself feeling marginally hurt.

"Pity", Hannibal said, voice almost even. "I thought you understood. I hoped you had finally managed to *see*."

"I never understood." Will's voice was breaking, under the weight of the pain he felt with every laboured breath he took, but he struggled to get the words out. "All I did was lead you on - like a beast, by the horns, towards your own destruction - with - revulsion - and horror. You have been _led,_ as you yourself have led others. Yet again, I had you right where I wanted you. And this time, I did not just want you caught, but killed."

Hannibal's hand dropped from Will's shoulder to his wrist, where the fingers tightened bruisingly. The same fingers who had caressed him as the other hand knifed him, the same fingers who had held on to his hair with familiar affection as the other hand held the device which pierced through his skull, the same fingers who had cleaned and tended his injured knuckles with such tender care after Will had brought him the body of Randall Tier.

'Yes', Will thought. 'This is it. Finally, no interruptions, no delays.' He couldn't decide if he wanted to close his eyes against the inevitable or keep them on Hannibal, in apprehension and fascination. Always, the fascination. He was so lost in the happy anticipation of his own death at Hannibal's hands - long-dreaded, long-postponed, his posture still and submissive, that it took him a few seconds to register that the painful grip on his wrist had disappeared. Will's half closed eyes snapped open.

"You're lying, Will", Hannibal said smoothly, a momentary tightness of the jaw the only remaining testimony of his previous anger. "Lying to yourself, most of all. Beneath your transparent ploy to provoke me lies the erroneous notion that you are a martyr placed in an impossible situation."

"Martyrs are sacrificed", Will murmured.

"Not by their own hand. They don't get to decide."

"You almost decided that for me in Florence", Will taunted.

"You were hardly a martyr, Will. You were going to knife me", Hannibal pointed out.

"Right, so you just decided on the spot that eating my brains was an adequate self defense. That is, after your shieldmaiden shot me." The retreat into sarcasm was soothing and Will gave in to it.

Hannibal offered an easy smile of his own.

"Not quite", he admitted. "Truth be told, Bedelia thought it might be therapeutic."

"Jesus", Will reacted, enraged. "That cold, vicious woman."

Hannibal smiled fondly.

"Lovely Bedelia", he said, on a reminiscing tone. "I really must pay her a visit soon."

Will stared at him.

"You won't 'pay a visit' to anyone, Hannibal, not anytime soon. Even if you managed to survive, you'll still be on the run. Everyone will be looking for you and this time it won't be just to lock you up in a luxury glass prison. It'll be the 'shoot on sight' policy."

"So this is to be my reward for giving Jack and Alana what they wanted. And you. You not only forgive how God forgives, but you reward how God rewards, Will."

"I'm just stating facts", Will replied.

"If you're just coldly stating facts, why did you push us both off the cliff?" Hannibal wanted to know.

Will shrugged.

"The ... heat of the moment?" he reasoned. "It felt like a fitting end for us."

"A romantic end", Hannibal considered, tilting his head.

"Whatever", Will agreed, tired, eyes sliding halfway shut.

"You have afforded both of us the same fate, Will. That tells me all I need to know about you."

"You were always very good at ignoring reality when it didn't suit your purposes."

"One of the signs of a robust mind", Hannibal replied cheerfully.

He stood up and pulled Will to his feet as well. Will swayed and blinked.

"Let's go", Hannibal said. He grasped Will's arm and set off at a slow pace.

"Go where?" 

"Somewhere warm, where we can hopefully mend our wounds."

"A hospital, you mean? I'm sure they'll afford you the best care if they catch you there."

"They won't catch me there. And I hope you'll consider joining me", Hannibal said, pleasantly, as if inviting Will for tea.

Will allowed himself to be dragged across the shore, only barely registering that they were moving towards the water instead of towards the main road. The salty chilliness flogged his wounds mercilessly. Each intake of breath was a slow foray into the ninth circle of hell, the one reserved for treachery, where sinners were trapped in a lake of ice. But even worse, so bad that Will preferred the numbing pain to the raw intensity of it, his mind pulsed and twisted, aching and bruised by the red haze of the dragon's fire.

"I can still feel him inside me. He's gone, Hannibal, but the dragon isn't", Will mumbled, as if to himself.

Hannibal stopped and regarded Will curiously.

Will stared wildly around, as if gripped by a delirious fever.

"All the more reason to stay with me, then. I can help you through it, help you master it. You don't have to fear it."

"I choose to - not to fear it, but to fight it. I should - I should get as far away from you as I can. You'll only spectate and revel in my destruction."

"Come on, Will, only a few steps further."

Hannibal took him by both shoulders and moved him closer and closer to the water's edge.

Will peered into the water. No reflection stared back at him. His teeth were chattering.

"I am changed", he muttered, "irredeemably."

Hannibal was looking into the distance, across the waters. He gave an impatient sigh.

"I think you're giving me too much credit, Will", he said. "It's easy to blame someone else, me or the red dragon, for awakening the potential that was always there."

"What you did to me...", Will began, accusingly.

"What I did *for you", Hannibal interrupted. He turned his eyes from the expanse of water so he could study Will's face intently. "Tell me, how did it really make you feel?"

Will frowned, as he considered the question seriously. He finally answered, haltingly, as if struggling to find words for unnamed things:

"At first, it made me angry; then it made me sad, and then it made me - grateful, and then it made me angry again - and I went through these feelings thousands of times, stopping on each for only a moment, and then moving to the next."

Hannibal smiled in genuine self-appreciation.

"I have awakened such wealth of feelings in you as others labour - and fail - to awaken in their loved ones in entire lifetimes."

"You don't love me", Will spit out, grating his teeth against the cold. "Whatever other lies you need to tell me - and others, whatever you do to me, whatever I accept from you, whatever this is, don't call it love."

"What about what you did to me? Is that love?"

"I have never called it that."

"How would you call it?"

His thoughts briefly fled to Molly and Walter.

"I don't."

"I see. It bears no name, just as you yourself have no name now. Shall we go?"

Will looked at Hannibal. They were standing at the water's edge. Did Hannibal have a kingdom in the sea? Will wouldn't have been too surprised if that were the case. Not that it mattered.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Will said, a note of finality in his voice.

"No? Where would you go? Back to your wife?"

"You know quite well I can't do that."

"Back to Jack Crawford? Do you think he can piece you back together? Pull the dragon from your mind with a layman's tools, with pincers and tweezers? Or maybe you believe him to be God?"

Will shook his head.

"I have no illusions about Jack and his sense of morality. But I'd rather die an insane beggar in the dust than go with you."

"Be careful what you wish for, as they say. Is my company really that offensive?"

"It is the Worst", Will answered,  tearing that last word from his teeth with an angry snarl. His defiance was at sharp odds with the tears which had suddenly started to pour with blind abandon from his tired eyes.

Hannibal studied him curiously:

"I'm sorry you think that. I have always endeavoured to be good company."

"Oh God", Will tried to scoff, but it only came out as a sob. "Only you..."

His sentence remained unfinished. He struggled to stop crying, in a desperate attempt not to show weakness. Hannibal gave him a few seconds, then he pressed on:

"I am sorry to interrupt your fascinating metaphysical crisis but as we are close to being rescued, you need to decide on your next course of action."

Will blinked through his tears and saw a light across the ocean. Not faint like the light he imagined seeing when he first collapsed on the shore, but larger, and decidedly real. A motor boat was edging closer. Chiyoh, probably.

"My shieldmaiden", Hannibal confirmed, smiling in recollection at Will's words.

"Are you going to force me to come with you?"

"I find your words distasteful", Hannibal said, sharply. "You have always made your own choices. I have never forced you to do anything."

The rushing sound of the waves in his ear, as Will considered this.

"But I suspect it's what you unconsciously prefer", Hannibal reflected, as the boat loomed larger and larger into view. "To have agency taken from you, so that you merely react? That's how you like to win the zero sum game that pulls you from slavery to righteousness to wickedness and back again? It frees you to kill and to create. What did you create when you pushed us off the cliff, Will?"

"I had hoped to create our destruction."

"But we were not destroyed."

"No", Will agreed. "You would deny me even my own destruction, if it interferes with your plans. And you have the audacity to say I make my own choices."

Will had finally stopped crying, and he slumped to the ground, exhausted, staring up at Hannibal, face crumpled and pale.

"I laid all my chips on that one final choice, and lost. I have no more choices to make in this life...I may yet die", he added as an inconsequential afterthought.

"More immediately and to the point-"

"More to the point, I don't intend to take another step. I will stay right here, where the waves - and you - have dragged me to."

"I am sorry that you feel this way", Hannibal repeated. The boat had almost reached them. "Goodbye, Will."

Hannibal was leaving and despite that being exactly what Will had wanted, the sight of him actually getting on that boat, aided by Chiyoh, and making no move to help him onto that same boat, filled Will with an unexpected fresh horror. A part of him ready to grovel on the ground. The other, determined not to let madness in again. The two parts gnawed at each other viciously in Will's mind and Will finally shouted:

"No. You don't get to just leave."

"Oh? You want to put me back in the cage?" Hannibal's eyes were burning will dull resentment. "I'd like to see you, and Jack, and all the king's men try that now."

An aristocratic smirk and he turned, stepping resolutely further out of sight, on the boat.

Will gasped and tried to rise, but he was in no shape to follow unaided. Chiyoh looked at Hannibal as if to ask whether she should step in to help him. Hannibal gave a minute shake of the head and that was enough for Chiyoh, who turned as well, and started the engine.

Will fell on his face into the sand, making an alarmed noise which sounded suspiciously like "please", but too low to be heard over the roar of the boat engine - even as Hannibal was no longer in his sight, an absurd sense of pride still wouldn't let him call out, shout Hannibal's name, admit defeat.

A million shards of himself scattered and collapsed as the boat sprung into motion.

He was in a tunnel of darkness and the only light was moving further and further away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They looked but they did not see.  
> There was only one person who saw him, but he no longer allowed Will to return the favour.

“I woke on the shore. I don’t remember anything”, Will said.

It was early morning and the light filtering in through the hospital window made specks of dust visible in the air.

He was sitting up in his bed, and Jack Crawford towered over him, even though Will had invited him to sit. 

“Do you remember how you got to the shore?” Jack asked, trying to look him in the eye, but Will was practiced at avoiding this, and focused instead on tracing the slow progress of the dust specks in and out of the tunnels of light.  

“No“, he answered pointedly. “But I suppose I must have swum.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Will.”

“Excuse me?”

“Where is Hannibal?”

“How should I know?”

“He was with you. We know he was with you.”

“I told you, Jack. I pushed him off the cliff. He dragged me down with him. I was lucky I survived.”

“Yes, how *did* you survive?”

Will gave a long-suffering sigh, trying to display exhaustion at being riled like this.

“What exactly are you implying?”

“Here’s what I think. I think Hannibal survived and saved you.”

“And then left me behind?”

“Probably with an agenda. Maybe to ensure you’ll spread the story of his death and so help him evade capture. Most likely so you two can start your ‘catch me if you can’ game again.”

“Why are you so sure Hannibal’s alive, Jack?”

“Well, we didn’t find a body, for one, and it wasn’t because of lack of searching. But mostly it’s your eyes that tell me.”

Predictably, Will made defiant eye contact with his interrogator.

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to, Jack. But after this investigation is wrapped up, I don’t want to see you, the FBI, dragons or cannibals or whatever other insanity you wish to throw my way. Ever. I’m out, and it’s for good this time.”

Jack Crawford smiled.

“That’s a nice speech, Will. Good pathos. Almost convinced me.”

“I mean it, Jack.”  - ‘I’d rather die an insane beggar in the dust’ – his mind threw back at him. ‘Yes, I suppose I do’, he answered himself. ‘Not God, nor the Devil, or the Great Red Dragon. Just myself and my petty demons.”

~

The first weeks in hospital were fraught with sedation, pain, the mechanics of tests and the slow healing process, all which helped to distract Will Graham from his thoughts and feelings. He slept heavily and without dreams.

Molly came to visit him and they talked, gently and politely, of a distant future Will was sure it won’t ever come. He saw in Molly’s eyes the sad certainty that she had lost him. He trusted and loved Molly, but he couldn’t tell her the truth, so he told her the same lie he had told Jack.

“But then- “, Molly said, “that means you’re free.”

Will gave a short laugh.

“I suppose that’s one way to put it, yes.”

“What other way is there? Please, baby, I want to understand. I want to help you.”

“There are all sorts of hidden, dark ways”, he murmured, without meaning to.

He looked at Molly’s sweet face and saw shards of glass where her eyes would be.

He looked away.

“Molly, I’m sorry. I have seen the world at its worst, I have seen myself at what I believed was my worst, but there’s a part of me that whispers in the quiet of the night, that it wasn’t even close. I will have to fight that part of me for the rest of my life, and I can't ever rip it out, or ignore it.”

“You don’t have to fight alone.”

“You’re a lovely woman, Molly.”

He offered her a warm smile. She nodded, understanding the unspoken dismissal.

“We’ll see each other soon”, she lied.

As he watched Molly leave the room, Will remembered unbidden Dolarhyde’s words: “I shared with her a little, in a way that she could survive.”

~

One morning during the second week, he opened his eyes to a bouquet of flowers propped on his bed stand. Red and white roses, and among them, a get well soon card. Will flipped the standard card over, intrigued. On its back, there was a drawing of a clock. A perfect likeness of one of those clocks which he didn’t remember drawing but knew he must’ve drawn, again, and again, every time Hannibal made him repeat the exercise, back when his brain was on fire with encephalitis. He remembered coming to this realization as he watched one of such drawings dissolve into flames in the fireplace of Hannibal’s office, as he helped him burn his papers. It seemed to Will a lifetime ago but he still remembered those moments vividly, as he was blessed (or cursed) with a photographic memory to rival Hannibal’s. And as such, the image of the distorted clocks was interwoven in Will’s mind with the memory of Hannibal making preparations to run away with him, telling him of his memory palace and the story of Achilles and Patroclus, offering him, on a fragile china plate, his _trust._

_“I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.”_

_“Didn’t I?”_

A myriad of familiar emotions welled up in him, as he crumpled the card in the palm of his hand – rage, frustration, gratitude, relief, and a sense of futility, followed inevitably by resignation. 

_If anything that can happen, happens – then you can never really do the wrong thing._

He remembers speaking to Hannibal in halting tones, the waves of the ocean whispering around them, as he tried to describe his feelings at Hannibal’s exquisite manipulation of him:

_“At first, it made me angry, then it made me sad, and then it made me – grateful, and then it made me angry again – and I went through these feelings many times…”_

‘- and I still do’, Will continued in his mind. ‘It really has no end, not for me, not for you.’

He checked himself out of the hospital the following week.

The beautiful flowers stopped arriving for him when he left the hospital, but the images of distorted clocks did not. They were left for him on the porch of his house in Wolf Trap, at the diner where he sometimes went to eat, even on park benches. The messenger never made himself (herself?) known to Will, always a step ahead of him. Will stopped seeing them as a threat and started seeing them as a promise and a reminder. Some events, traumatic though they may be, bore reminding. For that very same reason, he took scrupulous care to shave now, and kept the freshly stitched scar on his cheek fully exposed. The look of shock or pity on people’s faces didn’t bother him any more than feeling people’s eyes on him bothered him before.

They looked but they did not see.

There was only one person who saw him, but he no longer allowed Will to return the favour.

~

He started dreaming about Hannibal immediately after he went off the pain medication. Some dreams were terrifying, others confusing in their gentleness.

*

_He’s lying on the sand, and telling Hannibal that he would rather die a raving lunatic than go with him. There’s a note of pleading in Will’s voice as he says it, there’s an unspoken ‘make me, force me, take this decision from me.’_

_Hannibal kneels next to him and produces a syringe from his pocket._

_‘I was saving this for the Dragon’, he says. ‘Wanted to give him a drawn out death. But I decided to let you have your way with him. Always, Will, I let you have your way.’_

_Will follows him with anxious eyes but makes no move to stop him._

_‘You’re wrong, you know’, Hannibal continues. ‘You have plenty of choices left. But because I’m sympathetic of the muddle of feelings in the wake of your becoming, I’m going to make this choice for you. Just this once, though. Don’t get used to it.’_

_He takes Will’s arm and pushes the syringe in. Will’s eyes drift slowly closed._

_‘I don’t want you to die.’ Hannibal pauses. ‘Please stay with me until your wounds are mended.’_

_‘Thank you’, Will manages._

_The drug works fast through his system and he can feel unconsciousness begin to claim him. For once in his life, he finds he doesn’t mind it._

_Hannibal waits until Will slumps forward, then catches him in his arms, and holds him._

_‘You’re welcome’, he answers._

*

Will came awake slowly, the feel of the dream still heavy on his mind, and as he blinked in the near-darkness of his room, he felt his loneliness like the memory of a stab wound, before it eventually dissolved in the familiar dull ache. The house was silent and still, the absence of his dogs another source of pain for Will. He had not called Molly about them, partly because the conversation would have been painful for the both of them, and it would have made their separation final, but also because he felt their absence was a self-punishment he deserved.

Will got up from his bed and made straight for the bottle of whiskey. He had taken to mixing it with smaller and smaller amounts of ice, which he chopped himself out of a larger block. He poured a generous amount of drink and extracted the ice from the freezer. While chipping distractedly at it, he pondered his dream. He recognized the basic imagery from previous circumstances of Hannibal and himself, when Hannibal had drugged him, when his touch was gentle even as it promised violence, a parody of affection and comfort – or maybe as much comfort as he allowed himself to feel. A sharp piece of ice flew out of the larger block and Will selected it, pausing before he dropped it into the glass. Its coldness was soothing to his feverish state and he put it in his mouth, rolling it around his tongue.

What was new, and therefore unrealistic about the dream, was Hannibal not promising pain or heartbreak to go with the gentleness. Will replayed in his mind Dream Hannibal’s voice as he said to him ‘I don’t want you to die. Please stay with me.’ If Hannibal had only said that to him, those simple words, words with no double meaning or ulterior motives – Will would have probably gone with him. He would have followed him on that boat, and to the end of the world, if Hannibal asked him. Or was this new perspective of his brought on by the late night, and the loneliness, and the smell of drink?

Will bit the ice chip so hard that the sharp point of it pierced his gums and he tasted blood. It felt soothing. He sucked at it greedily until he felt sick, then he rinsed his mouth with the whiskey, crawled back into bed, and tried to go back to sleep, in an unsuccessful attempt to recover the dream. 

The next morning, he woke to find a sheet of paper with the familiar-looking clock had been pushed underneath his door. There it lay, a glaring mockery of his guilt, anger and yearnings. Will grabbed it and studied it – as always, the paper only contained the clock, otherwise it was smooth and blank, taken from a cheap notebook (Will had long ago identified the type). He always took his time analysing it, hoping to find something else on it, a clue, a hint. Every time he was disappointed.

Will opened the front door and looked outside. The snow covered the expanse of the flat field in front of his house. There were no tracks to be seen, but that provided him with no clue, as it was snowing heavily and any tracks would have long since been buried underneath fresh snow. Will was suddenly seized by a strange desperation. He ran out of the house, yelling into the crisp air of the morning:

“Where are you? Why don’t you come for me? I’m here – I – You can do anything. Anything! Why won’t you?”

Only silence answered him.

The creature lying coiled in the depth of his darkness awoke at the sound of his raw fury. It reminded him that he, Will, could also do anything. Will pushed it back down firmly, clamped his mouth shut and went back inside his house.

~

“We will be keeping a lookout for disappearances, violent deaths where one or more organs, or limbs, were removed. We’ll also be keeping track of purchase patterns for the sort of items which we know Hannibal Lecter favours. We know that Lecter is a man of refined tastes, which he does not hesitate to indulge in. This is how he was traced before.”

The agent was speaking to the assembly of officers with the steady confidence of a person who spent most of their time behind a desk. He had been introduced by Jack as Taylor Bennett and one didn't need Will's empathy to be able to deduce that he was Jack’s new golden boy and hoped to be in charge of the investigation – that is, as soon as the Bureau approved this as-yet-virtual investigation of Hannibal’s assumed whereabouts. He addressed his audience with a thinly veiled enthusiasm, poorly masked as professional concern. From his demeanor and his voice, Will sensed that he saw himself larger than life, and not given to admit he might ever be proven wrong. Will indulged himself momentarily in imagining what fate Hannibal might choose for him, if he indeed managed to find him, and decided he would have him for breakfast, sausages most likely. Will smiled.

The young agent looked in his direction.

“Am I amusing you, Mr. Graham? Or perhaps, boring you?”

Will laughed, startled at being called out, and by the overt aggression in the young man’s tone.

“Not at all, Mr. Bennett”, he reassured him.

“I’m sure everyone here would love to hear your insight”, Bennett offered, insidiously.

‘I’m sure they would”, Will thought. Most people in the room had turned to look at him, with curiosity and suspicion. He wondered how many took their information from Freddie Lounds articles. He had not read any recent ones and could only guess at the escalation of her shocking titles – if Hannibal and himself had been called ‘murder husbands’ before, were they now called ‘star crossed lovers’ perhaps?

“I have no further insight other than what I shared with Jack Crawford, and which you know”, he said out loud.

“But you do think I’m wrong”, Bennett pressed on.

Jack Crawford looked from one to the other, expectantly.

“I think you’re wrong in assuming Hannibal Lecter would choose to indulge in those past-times if he were wounded and on the run. Killing is not a need for him, it’s something he feels entitled to do, but ultimately may choose not to. As is dining on Damaskus cloth.”

 "I don't share your intimate knowledge of Hannibal Lecter, Mr. Graham, but I would like to believe he can be caught again.”

It was slight, but Will felt keenly the mocking emphasis on the word ‘intimate’.

“…But mostly I think you’re wrong because Hannibal Lecter is dead”, Will continued, ignoring the obvious jab.

“We don’t know that”, Jack intervened. “If you survived the fall and the fight with Dolarhyde, then so could have Lecter.”

“He was shot in the stomach. Dolarhyde shot to incapacitate. He would have been in no condition to swim to save himself from drowning, even if he did survive the fall.”

“You seem very eager to convince us of the fact.”

“I am eager to have this investigation over and done with, yes.”

“I understand your frustration, Mr. Graham. You sacrificed so much and it’s only natural to hope it has not been in vain.” Bennett’s conciliatory tone was even more infuriating to Will than his mockery. But the serious matter of Lecter being alive is a possibility we must all prepare for, since no body has been found.”

“The ocean is vast”, Will quipped.

“Very funny”, Jack allowed.

“I would like to propose”, Bennett continued, unperturbed, “in addition to the measures I’ve already outlined, that we assign agents to monitor and protect the people whom Lecter is likely to contact. Ms. Bloom has of course fled to parts unknown, but I’m sure Ms. Du Maurier would be glad of our protection, and I venture to say so will you, Mr. Graham.”

“In fact, I won’t.”

“Will-“, Jack started, on a warning tone.

“If he is indeed alive, your best shot is to allow him to become visible. He will never become visible, much less make contact, if you saddle all of us with bodyguards.”

“They will be experts”, Bennett said on an injured tone. “They will trail you covertly.”

“Not for a man like Hannibal”, Will snapped. He turned to Jack. “You know the bureau will never grant you the manpower to chase a man who is in all likelihood, dead. Not now when there are larger political concerns to consider.”

“I will pull whatever strings I can to get that manpower.”

“I’m sure everyone in this room realizes the importance of guarding against the likelihood, as you call it, of Hannibal Lecter being alive and at large”, Bennett stated, self-importantly. He approached Will, staring him down. “If all else fails, I will use all my powers of persuasion to ensure _you_ at least are watched, Mr. Graham.”

Will looked away from him.

“Your suspicion of me is unjustified. Jack Crawford will tell you that we deliberately planted the Tattle Crime story that I helped Hannibal escape, for the sake of authenticity. Jack will also confirm that it was our joint decision that no life would be spared if it meant the capture or death of Francis Dolarhyde.”

“I am aware of this”, said Bennett. “The allegations of misconduct that followed in the wake of this decision are for Jack to bear as the superior officer, but you will also be under scrutiny.”

“As that particular investigation is still ongoing, how do you suppose the bureau will give you what you ask, especially in the absence of any and all physical evidence that Hannibal Lecter is still alive?”

“We do have to try”, Jack said stubbornly.

“My personal belief is that there is a monster on the loose. And it is my duty to catch him”, Bennett replied, with righteous anger.

‘Yep’, Will thought. ‘Breakfast.’

~

It became clear to Will that he had to act fast. He didn’t think Bennett and Jack and all the king’s men, as Hannibal put it, would prove much of a threat, even in the unlikely event that the bureau did provide some, or that they could catch his mysterious stalker in the act of leaving mementos for him to find. But he felt pressured nonetheless. He also realized that he meant what he told Bedelia, he didn’t intend Hannibal to be caught again. Bennett mentioning Bedelia’s name had brought her back to Will’s mind, together with a crazy idea, one designed to draw Hannibal, to 'make contact', before Bennett could organize his cavalry. 

 

Bedelia Du Maurier opened her door to him, hesitant but curious.

“Have you come to resume your sessions?” she asked.

“Something like that”, Will replied, and stabbed her neck quickly with the prepared syringe, a shocked gasp the only noise she had time to utter. 

The drugs acted fast, and soon Bedelia swayed on her feet, clutching at her throat and mumbling in panic. He took her by the waist and laid her gently down on the floor.

“You know”, Will said, conversationally, “I was going to have my face cut off without anesthesia once. I have learned to appreciate since then Hannibal’s MO of plying his victims with drugs before robbing them of limbs – or organs. No need for unnecessary suffering.”

“It’s the little things….”, Bedelia whispered sluggishly.

“This isn’t personal, Bedelia”, Will said, producing a large kitchen knife, “as much as you may choose to think otherwise. But I need help in drawing Hannibal out, and you’re the offering.”

“A sacrifice to a cruel god”, she slurred. “I was right, you did find religion. You found religion yet you would not worship.”

As the cold blade of the knife touched her flesh, Bedelia moaned and tried to grip his arm with weak fingers.

“Is it going to hurt? I am very afraid of pain.”

She sounded like a little girl, her icy intelligence at a loss against the brutality of what was going to happen to her. Will felt the absurd need to reassure her with kindness.

“It won’t hurt”, he promised. “The drug is a strong anesthetic. Lay back and don’t look. I’ll work fast.”

Bedelia nodded slowly, and lay back obediently, closing her eyes tightly and drawing shaky breaths.

Will started cutting.

The scene had none of the violence and rawness Will had imagined in anticipation of it. At first, he felt clinically detached, like a surgeon. After a while, the quality of cutting into a woman’s warm flesh, as she lay pliant underneath him, took on a vaguely sensual allure.

The creature coiled inside him stirred, awoken by the smell of fresh blood. It growled, egging him on. Will kept on cutting, bits of flesh and bone flying, as he tried to ignore the sudden vivid image of Bedelia with shards of glass on her eyes, lying lifeless in his grip. The violence of tearing the woman’s limb apart wasn’t enough to appease the monster.

He finally finished and paused for a little while, considering, before almost mechanically starting on her other leg.

“If you take the other one too, you’d better kill me”, Bedelia said, with as much urgency as she could force into her voice.

“Fair enough”, Will said.

He felt more than a little capable in that moment.

He re-positioned the knife over her throat, but then made the mistake of looking into her face. The light fell crudely on her features, exposing the hard lines of her expression, aging her mercilessly. Her arms hung limply at her sides, hands faintly clutching at air.

“You told me once”, Will said, “that vulnerability gave you the incense to kill.”

Bedelia swallowed with difficulty, but did not deny it. Those may not have been her exact words, but she remembered clearly the situation Will was referring to.

“Do you understand me now?” she dared to utter, gaze fixed on the blade at her throat.

Will blocked everything out except the beating of his heart and tried to think. In the next second, he had set down the knife.

“No. I can’t do it”, he admitted, more to himself, than to Bedelia.

“I know”, she said. Her eyes were glistening with tears, but a slight smile played on her lips.

Will fell back, suddenly dazed and confused, at a loss as to what he was hoping to accomplish, feeling sick and disgusted with himself.

The silence was broken in the end by Bedelia.

“Dinner won’t prepare itself, you know? And I’m afraid I can’t help in my condition.”

Will lifted his eyes to stare at her, bewildered.

“The damage is done, unless you intend to glue my leg back on”, she shrugged. "Bring me the contents of my bathroom cabinet, second drawer. That is, unless you intend to let me bleed to death. Then take _that_ to the kitchen and finish what you came here to do. He must feel the aroma of your sacrifice and then maybe then he will be appeased and show himself to you.”

Unable to tell if Bedelia was mocking him or not, Will found it easier to do as he was told. 

-

“The bride of Frankenstein”, Bedelia gave a long suffering sigh on the last syllable. She took a sip of wine, then explained. “You were right, it should have been me. But we don’t get to choose our fates, do we? As for the choices of our hearts…A mutual acquaintance once told me that you can’t control with respect to whom you fall in love.”

Will kept on munching, waiting for her to elaborate on the circumstances. Instead, she gave another resigned sigh.

“I assume he intended it as an apology”, she said finally, with a gracious smile at Will.

“Are you talking about Hannibal?” Will asked. “What—“

“Oh, I don’t know if it was your Botticelli curls or your fabled ~empathy”, Bedelia interrupted him, bristling like a cat.

“I’m sure he liked you plenty, Bedelia”, Will felt pressured to reassure her, curious to know more. “He took you to Florence – behind the veil – did he not?”

“I was never really behind the veil with him”, Bedelia admitted in a small voice. “I was…” – a pause, while she searched for words her clever mind could not for once provide – “too fearful? Too rational? I could never be what he wanted me to become.”

“But you wanted to”, Will blurted, his so-called fabled empathy doing the thinking for him.

Bedelia looked up at him.

“I did, but never for the reasons you might think”, she replied, a note of disdain in her voice. “I admired the freedom and certainty that came with…being what he was. And I admired his strength, his style. I liked him. I never desired him, though, to be a lover to me.” A smirk. “Or else I would have had him.”

“Do you mean…”, Will’s curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned forward, intrigued. “You two have never…been intimate, while you were in Florence? You certainly led everyone into believing that you were.”

Bedelia grinned, enjoying Will’s unconscious jealousy for a few seconds, before replying:

“We were, once or twice. It didn’t change anything in our relationship, however. Not for me, and not, I imagine, for him. It certainly didn’t leave a dent in his obsession with you. It was still you who plagued all our discussions, whether we were having them between the sheets or at the dinner table. We slept together towards the end of our sojourn in Florence because it was an experience I wanted to afford myself before I left him. I was curious…what he was like in bed. I was curious about him in general, and this was an aspect I wanted to – tick off, as it were. I felt I could not have a complete understanding of him if I lacked that one aspect of his personality that eluded me – having already gained a sufficiently thorough understanding of him in all other aspects.”

“You will never gain a complete understanding of Hannibal. That requires his consent”, Will said, automatically. 

“True, that is granted only to you. That is what you would like to hear? Although – ah, it seems, you also lack that *one last vital clue.” Bedelia sat back, a slight smile playing on her lips.

“If you’re waiting for me to ask you what he’s like in bed or anything vulgar like that…”

“…I might as well wait for you to cook my other leg and we both know that won’t happen, yes”, Bedelia said, with amused indulgence. “You have spent all your penchant for cruelty, small as it is, on this act of removing my leg. All that’s left to you now are your old friends, passive aggressiveness and remorse.”

When Will did not reply, her voice softened and her eyes grew warmer.

“You know, I do believe that, perverse as it may be, part of what Hannibal finds so attractive about you, is your persistent innocence.”

She smiled.

“What about you?” Will inquired. “What drew him to you?”

“Let me not to the marriage of like minds admit impediments”, Bedelia misquoted smugly.

It was Will's turn to be amused now. 

“So you think you’re like Hannibal?” he asked disbelievingly. 

“I think everyone who’s met Hannibal can agree that there is no one quite like Hannibal. However, I have reasons to believe that I may have been at least partly the inspiration for the person suit he chose to wear. But, as much as he admired and respected me, and as much as he apparently enjoyed the aesthetic value of me gracing his lavishly adorned dinner table, or of twirling me around in a sumptuous ball room (I did enjoy in no small measure these things, myself), I’m sure that he felt little else for me – certainly not anything visceral like he did for you.”

“His…visceral feelings for me left me with quite a few scars.”

“Yes. He was dealing with the feelings you awoke in him in a myriad of pathological and fascinating ways. Not unlike yourself, I should say.”

It was uncanny how Bedelia, while missing a leg and with the drugs still fogging her brain, was still capable of looking so smug. Will may have robbed her of her limb, but she was the one dissecting Will now, and taking satisfaction in watching him squirm with discomfort at the truth in her words and the clarity of her insight.

“How do you know he’s watching you, Will?”

“He keeps sending me pictures of distorted clocks.”

At Bedelia’s blank look, he couldn’t help but grin.

“It’s a … private joke”, he said, and left it at that.

“Do you believe he would risk capture just to be around you and taunt you like this?”

“I don’t know that he’s around. He probably has someone keep tabs on me. Like you astutely pointed out once, Hannibal Lecter has agency in the world.”

Bedelia rolled her eyes and placed both of her hands in front of her on the table. In one of them, she had a salad fork, which she dropped on her plate with a ‘clang’.

“He’s not coming to partake of the feast, you know. And he’s not sending anyone to stop this.”

“I’m beginning to realize it.”

“Apparently I’m not the tasty morsel you thought I might be for him.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Bedelia”, Will said, playfully. “You were plenty tasty.”

“Why isn’t he here, then?”

“Because teaching me a lesson may be more important to him than getting to finally eat you. He won’t take my peace offering because it’s too little, too soon. When he does come, it will be only to witness my utter and abject surrender – or destruction.”

“And are you willing to give him that?”, Bedelia asked.

“I don’t know”, Will answered, with no attempt at duplicity. “I don’t know what I will do tomorrow, for that matter.”

Bedelia studied him for a while, frowning, on the verge of a decision.

“I can help you, Will. I can help you, if you let me. With great risk to my life.”

“Are you going to give me free therapy sessions?”

“Something like that.”

Will quirked an eyebrow.

“I can give you the comfort Hannibal provided for you, without the danger. I can be the source of cold ruthlessness in your life that you seem to crave.”

“No offense but that isn’t quite what I crave.”

“Oh, you crave _him_ , that much is painfully obvious, but I’m your second best.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re offering me, or why you’d want to offer anything at all to me. Surely it’s too early for Stockholm syndrome to set in.”

“Shut up and listen, and you’ll learn why in good time. For now, let me just offer you this one insight: You’ve played right into Hannibal’s hand, by coming here and making a meal out of me. I’m sure he fully expected it – so what you considered a daring act was to him a source of complacent amusement, at best.”

“So I must up the ante?”

“What you must do is surprise him. And the betrayal of you and I finding comfort in each other might be too much for him to resist.”

“Your betrayal or mine?”

“Ours.”

“Hannibal will know we’ve plotted this to get him out in the open, just as he knows I’ve plotted this now. He’ll let us bicker with each other into an early grave before he reveals himself to either of us.”

“Perhaps not, if we work together to make him an offering he can’t refuse.”

“A threesome?”

“Don’t be crass. A sacrifice. Not just a limb, a life.”

“Whose?”

“Someone who’s had it coming for a long time.”

Will didn’t ask her to elaborate and remained silent.

“You have to take care of me now, Will. You _owe_ me. We have to help each other.”

Will shrugged.

“You’re wrong about me, Bedelia”, he finally said. “I am capable of cruelty far beyond your reach. I am the dragon’s keeper now.”

“Then why –“, Bedelia wavered, stunned.

“Being capable does not equal giving in. Or even reveling in it. I’m still me.”

“The man whom Hannibal met another lifetime ago, and was so intrigued by”, Bedelia agreed.

Will drained his wine glass and stood up, walking towards her. She flinched involuntarily.

“You really must tell me all that Hannibal has told you about me, in those early days.”

He extended his arm.

“That would be a betrayal of doctor-patient confidentiality. Besides, the sheer amount of time that would take, I doubt either of us have that long to live”, she smiled feebly, then gripped his arm, heavily leaning on it, as she tried to stand.

“I will consider your offer”, Will told her. “Meanwhile, I’ll get you a cane.”


	3. Chapter 3

Will hadn’t shared the memory of the event with anyone, not Molly, nor Bedelia during his therapy sessions, certainly not Jack Crawford. He carefully avoided thinking about it altogether and neither him nor Hannibal hinted at it in any of their few conversations which occurred after Hannibal turned himself in.

But Will’s little house in Wolf Trap held its memory trapped within its walls, and allowed it sometimes to creep on Will when he least expected it, piggybacking on his thoughts and choices.

~

_Three years ago, after his unlikely rescue by the man who had, only a couple of days previous, tried to drill into his skull, Will sat up in bed and told Hannibal what he believed would be their definitive goodbye. Exhausted and drained, like after a long illness, he still felt the pangs of residual terror and sadistic pleasure not-his-own which he had been forced to experience on the Verger estate, as he realized, with a sad finality, that no amount of conditioning could make him enjoy the extremities which Hannibal seemed to delight in, without remorse, horror or pain._

_Hannibal was ruffled by his rejection, but only momentarily. He recovered his bearings and stood up, as Will sat watching him, silent and regretful but unmoved._

_“I would like to get a taste of you before I leave”, Hannibal said, unexpectedly. “Am I allowed to?”_

_“A ‘taste’? As in, eat my brains?” Will felt confident enough this was not the case to be able to joke about it. Whatever ‘moment’ they were in now, that wasn’t it. Hannibal’s hesitant tone and his uncharacteristic request for permission amused him._

_“No, nothing so radical”, Hannibal granted, with a smile. “I’ll settle for something more mundane, like a kiss.”_

_Will raised an eyebrow._

_“You want to kiss me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Why not? Do you oppose to it on principle?”_

_This was ridiculous, Will decided, so he took refuge in sarcasm:_

_“Not enough time to drill into my head and fry my brains to satisfaction before Jack manages to get here? So you’ll settle for this?”_

_“I’ll settle for this”, Hannibal said, agreeably._

_Whatever moment they were in, it was a strange one. Outside, it started to snow. Will remembered versions of himself sitting and watching the snow falling from the window of Hannibal’s house or his office, as he pondered words and feelings over laden silences. It felt strangely comforting and right. He wished he could just sit here with Hannibal and watch the snow fall for the rest of the day, until darkness obscured it. But he could no more freeze time than Hannibal could reverse it._

_“Yes, alright”, he finally answered, curiosity and excitement making the decision for him._

_Hannibal sat down close on the bed and leaned towards him. Will unconsciously mirrored Hannibal's movement, meeting him halfway, cautious apprehension marring his zest. The surreal feeling grew as they got close enough to share the same breath, the position was awkward but that became inconsequential at the sensation of Hannibal’s warm lips touching Will’s, a barely-there feeling of softness._

_Perhaps he was still dreaming._

_Will expected this apparent dream to turn into a nightmare any second now. Perhaps Hannibal was going to bite down and rip him to pieces with his teeth. Will could see it happen with the dark clarity of his visions._

_Hannibal edged closer, their thighs almost brushing, and supported his weight on his hands, as he leaned into Will even more, angling his head for a better fit, applying more pressure. Will tilted his head back obediently, keeping his mouth open and pliant, but didn’t allow himself to kiss back, and kept his eyes open, too anxious to close them._

_Hannibal was definitely *tasting* him. It was less of a kiss and more of a focused savouring process, his lips were sucked, licked and delicately nipped, thoroughly and intently, but still not bitten into, all hint of aggression and violence purposefully reigned in._

_Will couldn’t remember ever being the focus of such lavish physical attention. A strong emotion welled up in him – it mingled lust, yearning and the anticipation of heartbreak._

_Hannibal’s mouth slipped down to his neck. Will turned his head only slightly to allow him access, denying himself the pleasure and guilt of surrender. Hannibal inhaled deeply at Will's pulse point, then drew back._

_Will stared at him, eyes glistening, fighting not to let the tears fall._

_Hannibal looked him over with no small amount of satisfaction and stood up._

_“Goodbye, Will”, he said, and then he was out the door._

_Will hadn’t expected to see him again._

~

Will sat up in bed in his empty house which still held the memory of his past choices, holding a glass of whiskey, and staring out the window. Outside it wasn’t snowing and nothing felt right. It was cold and dark. 'Decisions are made of kneaded feelings', he remembered himself saying, not that long ago. Well, here was such a one. He jumped out of bed and began to pack.

~

The second time Bedelia Du Maurier opened the door to Will Graham, it was warily.

“Are you here to take my other leg, or to agree with my proposal?” She then spotted his bags, and smiled, allowing him inside.

“I’m here to _tentatively_ agree with your proposal,” Will said.

“You look pretty decided to me. Welcome. I’ll fix the guest room for you.”

Will noticed she had a prosthetic leg now. He wanted to say something about it, but realized any remark would have been futile, or tasteless.

“Please, make yourself at home and pour yourself a drink. I’ll be right back.”

Will watched her as she made her way out of the room. She appeared absurdly at ease with her new artificial appendage, her previous regal poise hardly affected. He thought it hardly fair.

“Are you having nightmares of me cutting into your leg?” he asked her when she returned and poured herself a glass of wine.

“Sometimes”, Bedelia acquiesced. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s funny. Ours is the classic story of the abused becoming the abusers.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple”, Will argued.

“You wouldn’t”, she sneered.

Will rubbed his eyes tiredly. This wasn’t going to work. They would, like he had already anticipated, bicker each other to death before they got anything done – for good or evil.

“Alright. Tell me. Whose sacrifice do you have in mind?”

“Jack Crawford”, she answered with no preamble.

Will’s eyes grew big with surprise.

~

“You know, Will”, Bedelia said, later into the night, balancing a glass of wine in her hand, as her prosthetic limb beat an irregular tune on the table leg, “you’re a two step forwards, one step back kind of guy.”

“Why Jack, Bedelia? What is he to you?”

Bedelia ignored Will’s question, just as he had ignored her jab.

“I also think that _you_ ”, she melodically raised her voice on the last word, “are perhaps the only person in the world who managed to hurt Hannibal Lecter. It’s true I avoided being hurt _by_ him, which, is an impressive achievement in itself, but you _hurt him_ – not just once, but again and again, and again, the pain of _rejection_ , for a man like _him_ , and you, to be able to inflict that - the sheer power you must have felt every time… It’s better than killing him, isn’t it? It’s your drug of choice.”

“You’re rambling. You’ve drunk too much.”

“Perhaps I did. So did you. One must allow for exceptional circumstances. Such as losing a limb and being in grave danger of losing everything else quite soon.”

“Might be no more than you deserve.”

“Oh, Will. I get wordy when I’m drunk. You get bitter. If everyone’s to get their just desserts, the world would be a lonely, lonely place.”

“The world _is_ a lonely place. Tell me why you want to kill Jack.”

“He used me, as he used you, as he uses everyone,” Bedelia said simply.

“And for that, he deserves to die?”

“There you go again, thinking in terms of ‘deserving’. It’s an unfortunate character flaw which will never allow you to be happy.”

“Okay, let me rephrase: Why must Jack die?”

“For Hannibal’s feast. He is Hannibal’s foremost enemy. Like I told you, it will be an offering he won’t be able to refuse.”

“I was supposed to sit down with Hannibal and Jack…at our last feast”, Will murmured. “Me and Hannibal were supposed to kill Jack together.”

Bedelia nodded.

“And now you will kill him with me.”

Will leaned forward and looked her in the eye.

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me, in plain words, not in the doublespeak you and Hannibal seem to favour, why you want him dead. Be honest with me for once, Bedelia. Otherwise, we can’t help each other.”

Bedelia pondered the matter over, looking Will up and down with eyes glazed by drink but still calculating. In the end, she shrugged and decided to allow him the knowledge of it.

~

_Six months into Hannibal’s incarceration at the BSHCI, Bedelia felt safe enough to resurface, confident by now that Hannibal corraborated the story she wished to tell the world. There were only two men who knew different – Will Graham, who seemed to want nothing more to do with any of it (and Bedelia couldn’t really blame him) and Jack Crawford, who was a constant thorn in her side. Crawford knew a great deal about her, probably suspected a great deal more, and now with Hannibal imprisoned, he was free to turn his attention to other matters. Bedelia did not wish to become such a matter._

_She got her confirmation that Jack Crawford was indeed watching her, as the agent greeted her when she came out of a clothing store one day._

_“Ms. Du Maurier, what a lovely surprise.”_

_“A surprise indeed, agent Crawford. I didn’t know you shopped at Escalier.”_

_“You got me”, he smiled. “I was trying to orchestrate a chance meeting.”_

_“Oh? And why would you want that?”_

_“I wonder, Ms Du Maurier, would it be possible to renew our acquaintance? I think your insight might help me a lot to understand Hannibal Lecter, certainly a lot more than his sessions with Frederick Chilton do.”_

_“Why do you wish to understand him?” Bedelia asked. “He’s already your prisoner.”_

_“Yes, but I still don’t feel like I have him, you know? I’ve done nothing. He’s chosen to surrender, I have only vague theories as to why, and he doesn’t act like a prisoner.”_

_“How does he act?”_

_“He acts like a king locked in a tower, waiting for the tide to turn. There’s no sense of victory in apprehending him, because he still remains in control.”_

_“So you want me to help you find ways to sabotage that control?”_

_“Like I said, I’d just like to understand him better.”_

_Bedelia smiled._

_“You underestimate my fear of Hannibal Lecter.”_

_“Did I mention he’s imprisoned?”_

_“For now. Also, you overestimate my allegiance to you, agent Crawford.”_

_Jack Crawford sized her up._

_“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” he said, raising Bedelia’s concerns to high alert mode. “I think our discussion would be better suited to a more private location, don’t you? Let’s say, your house, tomorrow, 10 o’clock?”_

_Bedelia nodded, trying to appear unconcerned, but she rushed home and debated whether she should pack and dissappear that very night. In the end, she decided that might complicate her position even further, in case Jack was taking chances in the dark and waiting to see if she had reasons to run. She’d stay and hear what Jack had to say._

_Jack showed up at her house the next morning, sporting a casual attire and a friendly demeanour. They talked about his job, his dead wife, about loneliness, wine, Bedelia’s potted plants. They did not talk about Hannibal Lecter._

_It was nearing lunch time when Jack said:_

_“I feel I should be paying you for therapy sessions, Dr. Du Maurier. You’re a great listener and I’ve enjoyed our conversation very much.”_

_“You’ve probably told me things about your wife you haven’t shared with anyone. What prompted this?”_

_“I don’t know. I feel like I took advantage. Athough, believe me, I came here with a completely different agenda.”_

_Bedelia stiffened._

_“Oh yes?”_

_“I was going to tell you that I know. I know about your past, Bedelia.”_

_“It was self-defense, and I was granted immunity!”_

_“I don’t mean your patient. I mean your husband.”_

_Bedelia stood up, eyes wild._

_“Please, sit down”, Jack said, calmly. “I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone. I can’t in all honesty take you in. You’re safe for now.”_

_“In exchange for…?” Bedelia said, icily._

_“Talk to me. About Hannibal Lecter. I came here to know more about him. But now I find I want to know more about you, too.”_

_“So you can use it against me?”_

_“I have sympathy for you, Bedelia. And we’re both lonely. What’s the harm in talking? Let’s help each other.”_

~

Bedelia paused. She had not touched her wine since she started talking and her throat was raw. She clutched the glass in both hands as she drank.

“I think I know where this is going”, Will said, breaking the silence.

“Do you now”, Bedelia said evenly. “You’re probably right. Even looking back, you know, I can see no other way out of it. And a part of me was glad at the time. My self imposed loneliness can be a burden, as I’m sure it was to Jack, and to you.”

Will nodded minutely. Bedelia’s story was only mildly surprising to him, and he found he could judge neither Jack nor Bedelia.

“And it felt good to share”, she continued. “Jack was a clever man, with a surprising capacity for gentleness underneath his aggressive façade. So yes, as you probably guessed already, we started an affair.”

“What went wrong?” Will asked.

“My capacity to feel injured and resentful at Jack’s decision to keep it hidden, as a shameful thing, to be only enjoyed in secret, like a dirty habit which shuns the light of day. And when he finally ended it, as you no doubt also guessed he had, I felt more than hurt or heartbreak – that I could have forgiven him for, I felt savagely _humilated_. It was unbearable. I was so angry, I could have done something reckless. But I did nothing, said nothing – I retreated, nursing my injured pride, and waited.”

“For the right opportunity to present itself.”

“My only satisfaction was that I never told Jack anything that he could use against Hannibal, nothing that would give him the power he wanted over his prisoner. I appeased his curiosity only with platitudes. Hannibal always kept his promises – he helped me, lied for me, and so I repayed the favour. The time I spent with him in Florence was the best time I ever had.”

“And then I came along, and you told me plenty. Everything I needed to know, in fact.”

“I wanted you as bitter as I was for losing Hannibal. I wanted to muddle your choices, maybe turn you against Jack, but I never expected you to take such drastic action as you did.”

“You were really mad that day", Will reminisced. "I’ve never seen you so out of sorts. Not even when I cut off your leg, were you so upset. It amused me.”

Bedelia shook her head, in annoyance.

“You’re a destructive force set adrift, Will. But you’re still no match for Hannibal, for his exquisite cruelty and appetite.”

Will’s smile faded, her words striking too close to home.

“So what does that make you, then?” he challenged.

“I’m a survivor, trying to divert your collision course.”

“By pointing me at Jack Crawford instead. By your own admission, you’re still afraid of Hannibal, maybe more than of anything or anyone else – “

“Not maybe”, Bedelia interrupted him. “Certainly. My fear of him is as encompassing and deep as the ocean itself”, she slurred.

“So this, then – Jack’s sacrifice – it’s an offering. Are you looking for a truce, Bedelia? Jack in exchange for yourself?” Will laughed, suddenly entertained. “He’ll eat you whole, you must know that. All that time spent analysing him, and you still can’t tell -  Hannibal doesn’t think like that. You can’t bargain, or trade, or appease him. He’ll take what he wants, whenever he feels like it. And the only reason why he hasn’t come for you yet, is that he just…doesn’t feel like it. Maybe he thinks you haven’t marinated enough. Perhaps he’s still curious what you will do. But whatever you do, Bedelia, it won’t set you free, it won’t save you.”

“Shut up, Will”, Bedelia interjected. There were tears of impotent anger in her eyes, and her features were twisted in a grimace.

“What did you do to your husband, Bedelia?” Will continued goading her, unperturbed. “What did Jack know?”

For a second, she looked like she was going to smash the glass into Will’s face, but then she slowly mastered herself.

“And what about you, Will? Why doesn’t Hannibal come to you? Surely for the same reason. He – just – doesn’t – feel – like – it”, she drew out each word frustratingly slow, teasingly.

Will snorted and looked away.

They finished their drinks in silence.

~

Will had moved in with Bedelia but they were living like two strangers. Loneliness still did not evade either of them. The only time they briefly connected was when they talked of Hannibal or of Jack’s proposed demise. Having realized that they could both hurt each other equally, they had reached an unspoken understanding to avoid giving into the temptations of badgering each other. They were both clinical in their discussions, discovering and analysing all the practical details and potential obstacles. Although Bedelia did not seem to lack motivation, she was very careful with covering her tracks. Will would have liked the thing over and done with, and to hell with the costs.

“You play, you pay”, he would remind Bedelia.

“I’ve already paid”, she would say, pointing at her prosthetic leg.

The pictures of distorted clocks had stopped coming when Will left his house in Wolf Trap, and he found he missed them. It was his only connection to his past, now severed again by his doing.

~

“Jack called me today”, Will told Bedelia one day during the third week. “He was upset that the Bureau decided not to grant him any resources in hunting down Hannibal Lecter. Apparently, he didn’t manage to convince them.”

“Good”, Bedelia said. “This will make things easier for us.”

“He also said there’s talk of disciplinary action against him that might result in a a transfer or even downgrading”, he continued. "He might stop being a threat altogether.”

Bedelia gritted her teeth.

“Are you backing out now?” she inquired icily.

“No”, Will said. “I was just thinking out loud.”

~

Bedelia wanted to use a gun, she thought it safe and efficient. Will wanted to use a gun to incapacitate but a knife to finish. He thought of all the times when Jack pushed and prodded at him – he wanted to push and prod at _him._

He didn’t think any further than the moment of Jack’s death, leaving it to Bedelia to plan the rest.

They decided that Bedelia should call Jack and ask him round to her place, ‘for old times’ sake’. Since Jack had kept their affair scrupulously hidden, there was no reason to think he’d tell anyone where he was going, and if anyone happened to ask him, he’d lie, which would muddy the water. Bedelia would welcome him in, serve him whiskey and keep him talking, putting him at ease. Then, they would act. They argued endlessly about which of them was going to do it and how. Weapon choice argument aside, Bedelia claimed that it was safer for Will to do it, as he crept up behind Jack, while she engaged his attention, but also insisted to have a gun on her as well, which, if the opportunity came up, she wouldn’t hesitate to use, shooting him point-blank range. However, Will, did not want to be the one to shoot from behind, he wanted to look Jack in the eye as he was doing it. Bedelia said this was impossible. Will couldn’t show himself to Jack while at Bedelia’s, that would make Jack very suspicious indeed.

On the day they settled for it to happen, Will was listless.

He skipped the morning coffee and went straight for the whiskey. He realized he was slowly but surely setting out on the road he had spitefully chosen for himself. It was not such an effort of imagination to envision himself as a drunken raving beggar, bleeding out in some dark alley after getting into a meaningless fight. Such fate had once seemed preferable to going with Hannibal. Will couldn’t stand the memory of it any longer and he drained his glass in a single swig. He went to the door and opened it briefly, looking out, as he did every morning, hoping against hope to find on the doorstep the picture of a clock with the figures all awry. He was, yet again, disappointed.

Bedelia came down the stairs behind him.

“What are you doing?” she said, annoyed, glaring at the empty glass in his hand. “I need you sharp today.”

Will gave a hollow laugh.

“Believe me, I’m sharp. Too sharp for my own comfort.”

“Alright”, Bedelia said, preoccupied. She smoothed down her hair and stepped inside the living room. Will followed on her tracks. Two guns were lying on the table. Bedelia took each of them in turn, weighing them in her hand, double checking their pull and bullets.

“I’m going to take the smaller one. It’s going to fit in my coat pocket."

“I don’t think he’s going to tell, Bedelia”, Will said, quietly.

She turned, distracted.

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s why you really want Jack out of the way, isn’t it? Because he knows about your husband, about what you did, and you’re afraid that at one point he’ll make it known, and you’ll go to prison. I don’t think he would, I think he’s all but forgotten.” He paused. “Did Hannibal know, about your husband?”

Bedelia set the gun down carefully on the table.

“No. He didn’t.”

“Mhm”, Will nodded. “He’s not watching us anymore, you know. Hannibal, I mean. At least I don’t think he is. I think he’s abandoned me for good, and possibly you as well. And I honestly don’t think Jack will pursue you. He has bigger problems now. We’d be killing a man for nothing.” Will spoke calmly, looking coaxingly at Bedelia, while she kept her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her, upper lip twitching slightly.

“Think this over, Bedelia. I don’t think you really want to get through with this.”

“No, it’s you who doesn’t want to get through with it, you – _you_ – lily-livered, righteous little man!” Bedelia blurted, turning on him abruptly. “You’re not half the man Hannibal is, I can’t _possibly_ imagine what he saw in you!” Her face crumpled in despair. “I knew I couldn’t count on you of all people. I’m alone, I’m all alone!”

“Calm yourself, Bedelia,” Will said, shocked at her uncharacteristic outburst, instinctively laying a hand on her arm.

“Don’t touch me! Go away, I don’t need you. Go jump off a cliff and make sure you stay dead this time. I’ll fix things myself, I’ll help myself, just like I’ve _always_ done.” She shook her head and straightened, regaining her confident pose.

Will took a few steps back, still looking at her with pity.

“I’m going out for a drink”, he said. “I think we should postpone this and discuss things tomorrow. We’re both too emotional right now.”

Bedelia waved a hand in dismissal and sat down heavily in an armchair.

“Please don’t do anything until I return,” he insisted.

She didn’t answer him and Will didn’t linger. He took his coat and stepped outside, with no small amount of relief. He was happy to leave the house, and Bedelia, for a while, and he was tired of drinking in her company. For once, he wanted to be with people, noisy and distracting, and with that in mind, he started looking for the dingiest bar he could find. He finally settled on a sleazy unlighted dump, the kind he wouldn’t have been caught dead in a few years ago, and drank the rest of the day away, while watching the people around him, their foreign lives and circumstances flitting through his mind soothingly.

~

Will stumbled out of the bar as the first shadows of the evening were falling, unsteady on his feet but blessedly relaxed. Everything felt simpler. He was ready to face the world, even Bedelia.

He must have not been watching where he was going, because suddenly a solid and warm shape stumbled against him.

“I’m so sorry”, he mumbled, trying to step aside, but the shape blocked his path, and then swiftly maneuvered him with unnecessary force into the back alley of the bar, then grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him against the wall, crowding behind him to restrict his movements.

Will found there was nothing like an unexpected attack to clear his mind of the pleasant fogginess induced by drink. He allowed himself a moment of regret for not slipping one of Bedelia’s guns into his pocket as he left.

“Look-“, he began.

“Shut up”, rasped an unfamiliar voice.

“I’m afraid I’ve spent most of my money on booze, but I can reach into my pocket and-“

“Don’t you dare fucking move.”

The cold wall scraped Will's injured cheek uncomfortably as he jerked against it, trying to get some leverage. He could feel some of his stitches coming undone, but he didn't care. One of his arms was held behind his back while the other was trapped between him and the wall - if he could only pull back a little to free it -

“Listen to me”, a heavy breath suddenly filled his ear, as the man pressed into him from behind. “I have a knife. I don't want your money, or anything like that. I've just got out of prison. If you're good and you don't fight, you'll live through this. But”, he interrupted himself with a nervous laughter, “I'm a bit jittery, see? So if you move sudden or try anything funny, I'll knife you."

Will tried to make sense of what he was hearing. It seemed too unbelievable. He didn't reply.

"So are you gonna stay still?" the man replied, after a few seconds.

Will cleared his throat.

"Yes", he answered.

"Good, good, good", the man repeated several times, as if to himself, and stepped back slightly.

That was the cue Will was waiting for, and he whirled around, swinging his freed arm in an attempt to strike, only to receive a powerful blow which knocked him out cold.

~

Will Graham blearily opened his eyes and tried to move, only to find he was tied up and sitting propped up against the wall of an unfamiliar building. He blinked and took in as much of his surroundings as he could. He appeared to be in some sort of abandoned construction site. The windows were dark, but one of them was broken, allowing the early evening light to stream in. Debris were scattered all over the room. It didn’t look like anyone had been there in a long time. Just his luck.

‘The one time I could have used Jack and all the king’s men watching my back...’, Will thought bitterly.

Will was still focused on taking in what he could see of the enclosure, when a shadow moved. A man stepped out from a dark corner and moved further into Will’s line of sight. He looked middle aged but he was wiry and tall, with sharp features, and surprisingly well dressed.

“Hello, Mr. Graham”, he spoke. “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I’m not really escaped from prison.” He paused. “The bad news is that I’ve until recently been a resident of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. A place you’re familiar with, of course.”

It was the same voice Will had heard in the alley, but the accent and choice of words, even the timber, were radically different. Will struggled to clear his mind. The alcohol which was still in his system and the blow to the side of his head, which he could feel was bleeding but which didn’t hurt, conspired to make him dizzy and disoriented, but he didn’t think he was concussed. In that moment, he could only think of one thing:

“Did Bedelia send you?”

“Who?” the frown of confusion on the man’s face felt genuine to Will.

“How do you know who I am?” Will asked.

“You got one part right. I was sent, by someone.”

Will considered him. The man looked very well groomed, almost scrupulously so. Even his nails were carefully filed. There was a glint in his cold eyes which betrayed his sadism.

“Did Hannibal send you?” Will ventured.

The man’s laughter was sudden and pointed like the trill of a wild bird of prey.

“I find it very amusing that you think that.” He studied Will with a cheerful benevolence.

“Guess again”, he prompted.

“You have me at a disadvantage”, Will replied, making it clear he did not want to play the guessing game anymore.

“This is nothing”, he smirked. “You’ll soon know what it’s like to be had at a real disadvantage.”

“You’re very well dressed for someone who just broke out of BSHCI.”

“It just so happens that attire is very important to me. It is our clothing, our skin, that makes us who we are. As long as we’re comfortable in it, any battle can be won. But who says I broke out, Mr. Graham? You’re not the only one who thought to fake an escape.”

He came closer and crouched next to him.

“I don’t believe I introduced myself. You can call me Mr. Crump.”

“Why the playacting in the alley?”

“That was just me having a bit of fun. It was convincing, wasn’t it? There are many skins which may fit one, despite not being born with them. That is something my benefactor himself realized. He was robbed of his own – I was told you played a not-so-small part in that, and so he’s looking for new ones.”

Will’s mind worked furiously.

“I did not rob Frederick Chilton of his skin”, he finally said. “Francis Dolarhyde did that.”

“Frederick still holds you responsible. And not unjustifiably so, if I may offer an opinion. So, naturally, he thought to enlist my services.”

“Chilton wouldn’t. He doesn’t have it in him. He’s not a killer.”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Graham. In fact, I have specific orders against it. You’re going to live, hopefully for a long time, after I’m through with you. But I’m going to let you in on a little secret, because it’s not as if you’re going to be in any position to stop me, any time soon. I do have specific orders to kill your best enemy, slash friend, slash lover? you tell me - after I’ve skinned him alive – yes: not before, after. I’m told you almost experienced a skin removal once so I’m sure you know, the skin must be elastic and alive when it's removed to be of any decent quality. Can’t do that on a corpse. Or I suppose, I _could,_ if I hurried, but I don’t want to. I prefer the warmth of living skin, bare and beautiful. It will be joyous. I’ve permission – no, I have _orders_ to hurt him – and you, in whatever ways I may desire, but I must not harm his skin. I’m told Doctor Lecter cares exceedingly about his appearance, I’m sure I’ll find his skin to be flawless and smooth”, he leered, enjoying Will’s discomfort.

“What are you going to do with his skin afterwards?” Will asked.

Crump paused to choose his words for maximum effect.

“A devil’s skin to wrap a fallen angel in.”

Will nodded.

“I suppose he is fallen, now, if he asked you to do this. Not that Frederick of all people was an angel. I told him once he wasn’t a killer. He still isn’t. And he won’t be. Because Hannibal Lecter will have your organ of choice for supper.”

“Will he?” Crump asked, grinning in sincere amusement.

“Oh yes. You’re very concerned with the outside layers, but for Hannibal, it’s what’s inside that counts”, Will finished with a smirk.

Crump nodded to himself.

“You’re a cultured man, Mr. Graham, tell me, have you read Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus?”

“Yes, I read it”, Will shrugged, because Crump seemed to be expecting an answer.

“Fascinating tale of mutilation and betrayal, is it not?” Crump continued, gesturing with the knife. “You’ll get to play the victim. Defiled, humiliated and your tongue cut off, to ensure your silence. But I’ll not stop with your tongue, oh no. I’ll also gouge out your eyes and burn off your fingers. That’s when I’ll stop, and you’ll get to _live._ Not to tell your tale, perhaps, but live, nonetheless.”

The fact that Crump was chuckling with relish, amused at his own tirade, made Will roll his eyes with undisguised contempt.

“Shall we get started, then, eh?” He leaned a little forward to whisper in his ear: “Also, I lied earlier. I do hope you’ll fight me, every step of the way. Would be boring otherwise.”

In the next second, a noise of broken glass rang out. Crump gave a sharp cry, and reeled, clutching his arm. A bullet had flown through the window, embedding itself in Crump’s right shoulder. Will saw his chance and kicked his knees violently upwards, hitting the prone man in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. Crump dropped the knife and clutched at his chest, heaving painful breaths and coughing. Will half turned, scrambling urgently for the knife. He maneuvered it in his bound hands to slash the rope on his wrists, unmindful of the cuts he was getting in the process. Noticing that Crump was starting to recover, he let himself fall on his back, trapping the knife behind him as he continued to work at cutting the bonds. He kicked at Crump again with his legs, but this time Crump was on his guard and evaded the blow easily. He grabbed Will by the shoulders and raised him up, reaching behind him to extricate the knife from his hands, but Will was almost finished and with one last desperate tug, he freed his hands and brought his knife-wielding arm in front of him, to slice at Crump’s face. It caught him across the ear, sinking easily into the yielding cartilage. Crump yelled in rage and pain and recoiled. Will cut the bonds on his own legs with one sharp move and stood up. Crump cowered, cradling his ear, the wound on his shoulder momentarily forgotten in favour of his freshest injury, crawling back on the floor as Will advanced on him, knife raised.

“Take the gun out of your pocket,” Will demanded.

"I don't have a gun."

"You have  _something_ there, even allowing for the fact that you're very happy to see me." 

Crump took out a set of handcuffs from his right pocket and handed them to Will.

“You had handcuffs and you didn’t use them”, Will said. “Why’s that?”

“I thought rope would do just fine.”

“You thought wrong. You underestimated me.”

Crump watched him warily, there was a dark edge in Will’s voice that wasn’t there before.

“I underestimated your friend”, Crump said, pointing to his shoulder.

“Stand up. Lace your hands behind your back.”

Will put the handcuffs on Crump’s wrists, tightening them cruelly. He then searched his pockets himself. He didn’t find any more weapons, but in his right pocket there was also a small key, which Will assumed opened the handcuffs, a bundle of banknotes and a set of car keys. Will transferred both sets of keys to his own pocket. 

“Where’s your car?”

“Out front.”

Will grabbed him by the elbow, and poised the knife at his throat.

“We’re going to go there now. Slowly.”

Outside, Will looked around, half expecting to find Chiyoh waiting there, but there was no sign of her, and no sign of another vehicle, other than the one Crump pointed him to. He looked up at the building opposite them, where Chiyoh had probably shot from, as he considered his next step.

“Where’s your friend?” Crump said disdainfully. “Are you going to turn me in?” He didn’t appear too concerned by the prospect.

It was Will’s turn to laugh, a mad edge to his merriment.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

~

Will drove them to the ocean.

He had knocked out Crump, partly to ensure he won’t be a bother, but mostly because he wanted to tune out his presence entirely. At one point he realized Crump had regained consciousness but pretended he hadn’t, probably in the hope of orchestrating another attack. His shoulder wound was bleeding sluggishly and he was being jostled continously. The road was full of twists and turns, the cliffs looming around them.

Will only had the barest of sense memory for the place he wanted to find. But it didn’t really matter. The place was only as important as the significance Will assigned to it. He abruptly stopped the car and quickly stepped out, barely missing Crump lunging at him. It was such an uncoordinated movement that Will had to laugh. He opened the door on Crump’s side:

“Get out”, he ordered.

Knife back at his throat, Will led Crump to the ocean’s edge.

It could have been that place, or it couldn’t have been. Will didn’t know for sure. But it looked strikingly like the spot where Hannibal left him and got on the boat with Chiyoh.

“Are you going to drown me?” Crump wondered out loud, intruding upon Will’s thoughts.

“No”, Will replied, still staring at the ocean. “I’m probably going to cut your throat.”

“Probably?”

“I’m not entirely decided yet.”

“The sensible thing to do would be to take me back to BSHCI.”

Will turned to look at him.

“I haven’t yet decided _on how to kill you_ ”, he clarified.

“It wouldn’t be self defense”, Crump said. “They’d charge you with murder.”

“…Then fight me”, Will said, and reaching into his pocket, took out the small key and undid Crump’s handcuffs, dropping them on the ground.

Crump’s momentary triumph all but faded, as he looked into Will’s resolute face. Both of them injured, they circled each other warily. Crump’s eyes flickered to the knife in Will’s hand. He made a grab for it, only to have it slash viciously at his arm, at his chest, at his face. In seconds, he was bleeding profusely. There was a crazed look in Will’s eyes.

Crump now started fighting with all the reckless despair of a man who had nothing to lose. Deciding to ignore the damage the knife might inflict on him, he launched himself at Will, knocking him off balance, then landing heavily on him. Will hit the ground, momentarily stunned, and Crump reached forward and bit into his wrist, causing him to loosen his grip on the weapon. Crump sat up, propping his knees on Will’s arms, then snatched the knife and brought it to Will’s face.

“I may not have the strength right now to do everything I set out to do, but I’m sure I’ll manage to cut off a few parts of you”, he snarled.

Will’s breathing quickened in panic. If he could only get the man to move his body weight off his arms, he might stand a chance. Adrenaline surged madly through his body in the face of impending danger. He bent his knees, and twisted his lower body as far as he could, kicking hard at Crump’s wounded shoulder. Crump howled and lost his balance. Will scrambled to get away from underneath him, but not fast enough. Crump grabbed him by the hair and pulled him forcefully back. The knife lay forgotten to the side as they rolled around on the ground, in a mockery of intimacy, each trying to subdue the other. Crump managed to pin Will down, and he grinned at him, as he canted their hips together.

“Are you enjoying this?” he panted, accompanying his words with suggestive grinding motions.

Will lay still for a few seconds, feeling the body on top of him relax slightly in response to his apparent surrender, then slowly, so as not to alarm him, he brought his hands around Crump’s neck, first unassuming, like a caress, then tightening brutally. The body on top of him jolted in surprise. Will flipped them around swiftly, and straddled the man as he pressed down onto his windpipe with unrestrained brutality.

The creature inside of Will screamed in triumph. He thought he heard a sickening crunch, then the man underneath him stopped his frantic struggling, and lay unmoving with a look of horror in his wide-open eyes.

It was over.

Will’s hands slipped slowly away from Crump’s broken neck. He looked towards the ocean, expecting to see waves of blood rush over him. They were dark blue. Above, the sky mirrored them, just like on that fateful day, when he tried to paint his hands with his and Hannibal’s own blood.

The sense of quiet power that came with the kill was tainted with the urge to mutilate – to do to the dead man what he would have done to him. He clenched his teeth together tightly with the effort of overcoming the urge.

The ocean still drew him. He stood up – his feet were unsteady and he felt cold but feverish, shivers racking his body. ‘Just like that day’, his mind sang at him, ‘just like that day – I will finish now what I started then, what I would have done then if I weren’t so weak. There is nothing else for me.’ He walked towards the ocean. ‘Just like that day – I thought Hannibal was going to drown me that day, or else take me to his kingdom under the sea and now I’ll go there myself, where I’ll learn all his secrets-’

“Will.”

He turned slowly, not expecting anything but the visions of his fevered brain.

“You wear the ceremony of your innocence like a shroud. I always thought it was very becoming on you”, Hannibal said, standing not two feet away from him, larger than life, coat perfectly ironed and hair slightly ruffled by the wind.

Will’s knees buckled, as he hastily crossed the distance between them, he reached out his hand and touched Hannibal’s chest – it was real and solid - and stumbled haltingly into his arms, feeling, blessedly, a touch of cold comfort settling on his heaving back.

“I tried to drown it”, he mumbled, in answer to Hannibal’s reference. “The blood-red tide…”

“Shhh”, Hannibal soothed, petting him like one would a twitchy foal. “I’m here now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
> The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
> The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
> Are full of passionate intensity.  
> \- WB Yeats, 'The Second Coming' (re: Hannibal's reference at the end).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter was supposed to be darker, but instead it turned out somewhat fluffy?? I ain’t even mad, they just went and wrote themselves like that tbh ;d I hope you enjoy this brief reprieve from murder and mayhem. Merry Christmas or should I say Happy Hannibal Advent :)

The ocean was singing around them. Will still clutched at Hannibal, face burrowed in his chest, content to remain standing there. It was like time did reverse and he was granted a second chance to return to that same place and do it right this time. Or do it wrong? The distinction hardly mattered to him in those moments. The waves were lapping at his feet and he could feel his blood pouring down his face, but the greatest source of comfort and pain in his life was right in front of him, and he was running soothing hands through his hair. The memory of what had happened still burned his mind with a smouldering flame, the creature inside him basking in its fierce warmth. It was sharpening his claws and waiting for the next chance.

“The dragon has a hold of me. He has gripped me in the coil of his tail and pulled me into his world. And his is a fierce world. I burn with it”, Will said out loud, to the only person alive who wouldn’t laugh to hear such words.

“I can tame him”, Hannibal said, easily. “I can help you, Will, if you let me.”

“I can’t be what you want me to be. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to be anything you’re not.”

“Hannibal –“

“It’s going to be alright, Will. I have you now. It’s alright.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I’m going to save you.”

Still, neither of them made a move, content to share a stasis where neither had to play against the other.

“Did Chiyoh-?” Will asked in a while, muffled by Hannibal’s coat, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Yes”, Hannibal confirmed, without asking Will to explain further.

“Where is she?”

“Not here. But she had a good idea where you’d be going, with your victim in tow, and called to tell me.”

“I was very close to being *his victim”, Will said. “How long have you been hiding here?” – the unspoken ‘Why didn’t you help me’ lingering in the air around them.

“I arrived just in time to see you kill him. A magnificent job. You’re a remarkable boy, Will.”

“He was going to kill you. After he removed your skin, for Chilton to wear, that is. I was going to be mutilated, but left alive”, Will deadpanned.

Hannibal’s hands stilled in his hair. He had obviously not expected that. Taking a step back, he took Will by the shoulders and looked into his face, to ascertain whether this was Will’s idea of a joke.

“Well”, he said drily, convinced that Will was simply stating facts. “He would have seen our fates as a redemption of what happened to him. Still, I didn’t think Chilton had in in him.”

“I’m beginning to think everyone has it in them”, Will said slowly. “It’s just a matter of drawing it out.”

“I wish I could have got here sooner to share this kill with you. But now that it’s done, I will help you hide it. It will be easy. We’ll cast him into the ocean, let the water wash away all the evidence. As much as I would love to mutilate him as he would you, we don’t have the time for it.”

“You have to resist signing your work, Hannibal. They’ll know. I told them you were dead, but they’re still suspicious.”

“As they well should be. I’d be offended if they wouldn’t be.”

“But they lack the manpower to act on their suspicions. They didn’t even assign a watch on me, as they threatened to.” Will paused. “If they had, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Do you regret this happening, Will?” Hannibal asked, staring at him intently.

“Right now, no, I don’t”, he answered, returning the gaze.

Something in Hannibal’s face softened, with a small smile, and Will remembered a moment they shared long ago, around a candle-lit table, sharing a meal that was most definitely not pork, Hannibal’s gaze on him warm and radiant, making him so easy for Will to love. The memory of it was tainted with the knowledge of Will’s betrayal and Hannibal’s subsequent revenge. Every single memory he had of Hannibal seemed eternally suspended in a delicate and claustrophobic snow globe. Their bittersweet interactions felt surreally played out between the notes of Hannibal’s beloved Aria of the Goldberg Variations.

Will thought of trying to express his outlandish thoughts, then decided against it. Instead, he returned Hannibal’s smile.

“It’s getting late”, Hannibal said. “Let’s take care of the body.”

They worked together in silence to strip the man. Hannibal burned his fingertips with a lighter to delay identification and dragged the body further into the water, assigning it to the waves. Afterwards, they burned the clothes and the contents of his pockets, and the traces of fire were also consigned to the ocean. Will retrieved the handcuffs.

“So, Frederick’s horrible, no good vengeance is foiled for now. He will try again, of course. I find the prospect invigorating.”

Will bit back an ‘of course you would.’

“Tell me, Will. Who is the next to feel your righteous wrath? Is it me? Is it Jack Crawford?”

Will started.

“You know about it”, he said needlessly. “God, is there anything you don’t know? Anything you can’t do?”

Hannibal chuckled with fond amusement.

“I assure you, there is nothing supernatural about me knowing. I have been watching you, or asked Chiyoh to watch you. So I know when you went to Bedelia’s house as you no doubt intended me to. I also suspected it wasn’t a courtesy call.”

“It was a challenge”, Will interposed.

“Yes”, Hannibal grinned. “One I chose to ignore.”

“Because you wanted to teach me a lesson.”

“Or I was simply curious what you would do.”

“No, you wanted to punish me, Hannibal. You were sending me those drawings of clocks – and then you stopped sending them.”

“How quickly we form attachments to things on no stronger basis than their regular occurence. Those drawings may have been an unpleasant reminder for you. Instead, you have missed them when they stopped coming. You thought it was a punishment when you no longer received them.”

“And it wasn’t?”

“I simply-“

“If you’re going to say that you were curious what I would do, then you might just feel my righteous wrath next, Hannibal.”

“I’m afraid I simply got bored of doing it.”, Hannibal answered, with a slight smile.

Will watched him for a few seconds, not knowing whether to argue or start laughing. His lips curved upwards of their own acord. 

Hannibal continued: “Since Bedelia walked away from the encounter alive, if missing a leg, it was obvious you two struck a deal. I’m the shadow that towers over both your lives and any bargain you two strike will have me at the centre. But I did not know, and in fact still do not know, whether the bargain was for my death, or for my pleasure. So I ask you again, where will you turn your wrath next?”

Will replayed in his mind Hannibal’s question. It was a shot in the dark, but a damned accurate one, and Will had immediately assumed Hannibal knew about Bedelia’s plans for Jack. He debated whether he should keep Hannibal in the dark about it, but decided against it. He was bone-tired and wanted to rest. 

“Nowhere", he answered, looking towards the ocean. "Bedelia thought a good way to draw you out would be to bait you with Jack’s demise. We were supposed to carry it out together. She said you wouldn’t be able to resist such a feast. Today was the day set for it to happen. But I wasn’t going to. I left the house today because I decided I won’t be a party to it.”

“I see”, Hannibal said. “Pity. Bedelia had the right idea. It would have been an appropriate feast. Of course, it wouldn’t have saved her, as she was probably hoping.”

“That’s what I told her.”

“And it wouldn’t have saved you, either.”

Will looked at him sharply.

“But since she seems desperate for my attention, I’m sure that can be arranged”, Hannibal continued. He paused. “I’m afraid the inevitable can only be delayed for so long, Will. Choice and circumstance have returned us again to a moment in time – to make the same mistakes, or to choose a different path. The choice is before you now – to kill me, let me go, or come with me.”

“You have already decided for me, Hannibal. You could have decided for me even back then, only you wanted to have the satisfaction to see me wallow in regret. I am going with you.”

“Excellent”, Hannibal said. “Let’s go then, we have little time.” He turned and set off at a brisk pace. With one last look at the ocean, Will stumbled to follow him.

They reached the main road and Hannibal led Will to a car parked not far off from Crump’s car. Will sank into the passenger seat gratefully, suddenly feeling his exhaustion like a heavy blanket covering him from head to toe. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep but forced himself to stay awake; he still had questions. Hannibal started the car and set off at high speed.

“Where are we going?” Will asked.

“Away”, Hannibal answered vaguely. “I will make arrangements for Chiyoh to take that man’s car to a disreputable car dealer who will take it apart and sell it for scraps, no questions asked. Your tracks are covered as well as can be under the circumstances, but there is one person who will know this man disappeared and he will know the likely person responsible. For now, his lips are sealed by his own guilt, but that may change. I don’t trust him.”

“I’m sure he’d find that sentiment amusing, coming from the man who framed him”, Will smirked.

“Frederick has proven an unexpected foe. His experiences may have changed him or else I have underestimated him before. I am certain of one thing at the moment, and that’s his unpredictability. Whether he means to have his Old Testament revenge on us, or set the FBI on our trail, I’m sure you’ll agree that we’d both be fools to linger to find out.”

Will nodded shortly.

“But tonight we must pay a farewell visit to Bedelia, for you to say goodbye and grab your things and for me to-“

“Eat?” Will quipped.

“Give due attention to”, Hannibal supplied euphemistically. “I’m sure you cooked her leg plainly but efficiently, _bonne femme,_ so to speak. I had something more exquisite in mind for this lovely woman, but time is short and I have to make do. A fillet flambe would be simple and enjoyable. Add ground red pepper, sprinkle with cognac, then ignite, afterwards add melted butter and fresh parsley. But that is just based on my memory of her. It’s been more than three years since I last saw Bedelia. She may yet provide me with new inspiration.”

Will narrowed his eyes morosely.

“And after you’re done with her?”

“One step at a time, Will.”

“You still don’t trust me enough to tell me.”

“Can you blame me? There are still wounds to mend.” Hannibal pointed to the cut on Will’s head. “Yours, for one. I don’t have any medical supplies in the car. I’m afraid you'll have to wait until we arrive at Bedelia’s for me to take care of it.”

“I’m fine.”

“I wouldn’t think so. Your eyes are bloodshot, you reek of whiskey and you’re probably running a fever. Sleep, Will. You’re safe, I promise.”

Will wanted to snort, but he did feel an absurd sense of safety and comfort. He laid his head to a side and promptly fell asleep.

~

Hannibal was standing in Bedelia’s empty drawing room, looking around.

“Her closet is empty”, Will confirmed, returning from upstairs. “She’s gone.”

“Clever girl”, Hannibal said proudly. “She keeps dodging bullets, this one. And knives, and teeth.”

Will would have liked to tell Hannibal about Bedelia murdering her husband, but that would have made Hannibal shower her with even more praises, so he abstained.

“Perhaps this is for the best”, Hannibal went on. “One cannot preserve entropy but one must show due consideration when one is believed to be dead. To poke the bear would be unwise.”

“If you’re referring to Jack”, Will said, “He already thinks you’re very much alive. And that I’ve lied for you.”

“Yes, why _did_ you lie for me, Will?” Hannibal asked, curiously.

“Also, I fear Jack may already have been ‘poked’. Bedelia had the look of Lady Macbeth when I left her this morning. She might have carried out her plan by herself and fled. But like you said, we’d be fools to linger and find out for sure.”

“Will”, Hannibal repeated.

It was absurd how, no matter how high and strong Will built up his defenses, he would always startle to attention at the way Hannibal said his name. Everything Hannibal did and was for him, beyond all the big words that they would always throw at each other, was contained in the particular way that he spoke Will's name, that simple, one-syllable word which Hannibal rolled off his tongue with such singularity, that it seemed to Will that Hannibal alone knew exactly who he was and could infuse his given birth name with that true meaning. He remembered how he wished himself nameless and denied Hannibal the speaking of his name. He had the right idea.

“Why did you lie for me, Will?” Hannibal insisted.

The answer ‘Because I might be more than a little in love with you, like that impossible woman who will live to not be eaten another day, had the gall to suggest to me’ – presented itself in Will’s mind and got rejected. Admitting this or any variation of it, to Hannibal, would be tantamount to walling himself in and handing Hannibal the keys to his prison.

“Guilt, probably”, he answered instead, dismissively.

Hannibal fixed him with a look.

“And you’re still lying. I suspect it has become an adaptive and normalized state of affairs for you, Will.”

“An unfortunate side effect of having to play deadly games with someone like you”, he couldn’t resist throwing back.

Hannibal granted him that, with a smile.

Will’s exhaustion hit him anew, so he felt dizzy and sat down, reclining into one of Bedelia’s low armchairs.

“Look, can we not do this, right now? I know you’re not one for sympathy, but I’m bleeding from two places – that I’m aware of right now, and I haven’t eaten a thing today.”

“Of course you haven’t. You’ve been too busy drinking.”

Hannibal’s reproachful tone amused Will in no small degree.

“How domestic of you to say so”, he commented wryly.

“Not at all. Just pointing out the disadvantages of drowning yourself in drink. You are free to draw your own conclusions. I’ll look for medical supplies.”

“Bathroom cabinet, second drawer”, Will provided helpfully.

When Hannibal returned, Will was almost dozing off again. Gently, Hannibal washed and dressed Will’s head wound, and the bite mark on his wrist. Crump had managed to break the skin, it looked ugly but there was no significant damage. Hannibal tied a single layer of gauze around his wrist, then laid his hand back in his lap, slightly caressing his fingers as he did so.

“Let us hope Frederick’s avenger did not have rabies”, Hannibal said, lightly.

Will chuckled. He was watching Hannibal’s face as he worked with avid attention, which he supposed anyone other than Hannibal would have found uncomfortable. Hannibal paid him no mind. His exotic, striking features were composed and relaxed. Will always found it a rare treat to be able to examine Hannibal up close. The fascination he felt for this man was not unlike an ache, as Bedelia had aptly put it. Despite the long time they had known each other, there was still a sense of strangeness in the quality of his attraction to Hannibal. Will tried to imagine his fascination morphing into a quiet affection by virtue of familiarity but it seemed too unrealistic a dream to dwell on.

Will’s other hand was sporting a series of small self-inflicted cuts from when he had used the knife to untie his bound hands. They were not deep so Hannibal just washed them and sanitized them and left them exposed to heal on their own. The small extra touches which Hannibal bestowed upon him throughout were not lost on Will, who leaned into them with lingering relish.

At last, there were no more excuses to be found for the touches and Hannibal stood up.

“Take only the barest of necessities and the things you are too fond of to leave behind, Will. Meet me at the car in ten minutes.”

“I don’t have the luxury to start my life from scratch, Hannibal.”

“I do.”

“I’m not comfortable with-“

“You will be. The matter of whose money buys what is inconsequential. I have already anticipated and planned for this eventuality. Everything is taken care of.”

“Money has never been an inconsequential matter to me. Instead it’s always been an issue of pride, so I can’t allow you to-”

“Consider it an act of reciprocity. I owe you my freedom.”

“You owe the Red Dragon your freedom, if it comes to that. And was I not also the reason why you gave up your freedom in the first place?”

“And now the balance has been restored. All my actions lead to beautiful counter-reactions from you, Will. Nothing goes to waste. We will always be in a state of divine balance. Compared to that, I repeat, money is inconsequential. For that purpose, anything that money can buy is ours. For now, I’m hoping it will buy us our continued freedom.”

Hannibal made it clear that any of Will’s protests would be token from that point on, by turning and swiftly leaving the house. Will nodded to himself once, granting that freedom was a convenience he couldn’t afford rejecting, then went up the stairs to hastily pack.

The silence of Bedelia's house as he was left alone inside it felt oppressing. He hurriedly tossed a few of his favourite clothes into a small bag, along with his toothbrush and razor. He assumed Hannibal would welcome the chance to introduce him to a finer aftershave, so he left his behind. He also took his fishing gear, his laptop and a few books. As he debated what else to take with him, he had a momentary irrational fear that Hannibal might have used their time apart to leave  _him_ or that by a strange comedy of chance he might have been hurt or apprehended. Clutching his bag, he ran downstairs and out of the house, heart pounding. He needn't have feared. Hannibal was waiting for him in the car, speaking on the phone. When he saw Will approach, his eyes softened with that peculiar tint of vulnerability, remarkable in its infrequency, which was known to awaken in Will the equally absurd tendency to forgive Hannibal for anything and everything. As Will climbed in the car, he realized that Hannibal had just afforded him yet another chance to leave, and he prepared for the possibility that Will might have chosen to take it. Yet, for once, it hadn't occurred to Will to change his mind or double-cross Hannibal. Not this time. A strange and maddening dance they were leading each other into. Hannibal turned off his phone and started the car. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might feel surreal, messy and dreamscape-y, like the Season 3 Italy arc (which I'm very fond of btw). Suspension of disbelief may be required occasionally, and on that note, apologies for any historical, geographical or language errors, I've only done some hurried internet research to get my info, although I meant to be more thorough. Sadly I've never been to Italy (yet!)

When Will told Hannibal about the Ravenstag, Hannibal said,

"I wish I could see him. I've opened the doors of my mind palace to you, but yours remain shut against me."

"If I can see you", Will answered slowly, and the words sounded familiar, "then you can see me."

"Only if you let me", Hannibal answered.

"I do. You've earned that right, you have stabbed and ripped and eaten your way to my heart."

"But now comes the hardest test, because I am now up against the one thing I cannot take by force.”

"You could, if you were literal about it. How would you cook it, if you did?" Will asked curiously.

"Your heart? Coiled in on itself, with fresh spinach leaves and mushrooms at its core, bind it with twine, sear over scorching heat until golden, then left to simmer until I deem it done. Rare, not medium. But I promise to allow myself only the pleasure of discussing it. I will never-"

"Not even to punish me?" Will interrupted. "Like you did in Florence?"

"I have regretted that and was grateful for the interruption. A hopeless man is like a cornered beast, violent and unpredictable. That you have crossed an ocean only to hurt me, that you used our time apart to further know me, intimately, only to use that knowledge to destroy me - it made me a bitter and hopeless man. But all this is behind us, my dear Will. We have looked into the darkness together and you have called it beautiful. Then you cast us both into the cold waters of the Atlantic, a cruel but purifying baptism."

“And afterwards I rebelled against it,” Will reminded him.

“And afterwards still – you returned to me,” Hannibal said, complacently.

"So we've been reborn to each other? All the sins of our past life forgiven? Can it be? It would be too simple", laughed Will.

"I am hopeful that it can, and will’, Hannibal said evenly, so the last word could just as easily have expressed certainty in the future, or Will’s name. ‘Show me the Ravenstag. Show me all of you."

And Will did, because he never knew himself as well as he did when he was with Hannibal, and no else one in the world could ever have the desire and ability to know him as intimately, bruisingly, yet with steadfast patience, as Hannibal did.

Then Will told him also about the unnamed creature inside him. He would not name it like he named the Ravenstag, because he had a superstitious fear of acknowledging it, but sometimes in his thoughts, he referred to it as the dragon. He allowed Hannibal to feel its blunt scales, caress its twisted fins. Feel the insidious torment of its fiery breath.

It was wild, it took up too much space.

In all of Will's empty spaces, Hannibal should reign.

Insidiously and persistently, Hannibal set out to get his power back.

In Will's mind, the Dragon and the Ravenstag fought together.

His body reacted, running a high fever.

He felt like he was fresh after a battle, wounds glistening.

The flowers start coming again, interlayed with pictures of distorted clocks.

Hannibal was talking to him, in his peaceful, thick-accented monotone, and Will smiled, appeased.

  
He slept, and Hannibal's voice travelled with him in his dreams.

He slowly came awake one day to see Hannibal asleep in a chair beside his bed. He had no idea which day it was or where they were. He had lost track of time. His mind flashed back to that once-upon-a-day when he saw Hannibal asleep besides Abigail's hospital bed, holding her hand. A furrow of worry tainted Hannibal's brow, then as well as now, and Will’s hesitation mirrored that of his past self, across the threshold of years - what to do with this man - to him? - for him? He felt a childish impulse to climb out of his bed and ruffle Hannibal's immaculately ironed shirt. Instead he grasped his hand and squeezed. 'I'm here, I'm with you. You’re stuck with me forever, until one of us kills the other. (I'll probably try to run away again, soon). I see you, and you are loved. (The sleeping creature inside me wants to smother you.) I don't know what to do with myself when I'm without you (I don't know what to do with myself when I'm with you). I love you. (I’ll die before I allow myself to love you)."

  
Hannibal started under Will's gaze and watched the play of emotions on his face, reading him like a favourite book.  
"I have sucked the poison out of you", he said. "And you still doubt we're family."

 

~  
The village of Suvereto, Italy, was small but alive with tourists. People were friendly and did not ask questions except to trade, and inquire pleasantries, with bustling joviality.

Would they buy some olives? Or wine? The area was famous for its wine.

They would, and thank you.

Hannibal slid one arm around Will and pulled him close to whisper in his ear:

“The meat I have recently acquired goes particularly well with this light red wine he's offering to sell us”.

Before Will could begin to ask about the origin of the meat or the means of its acquisition, Hannibal continued, accent thick and voice low, like he was imparting a particularly juicy secret, off the vendor's happy look:

“The magic of this combination lies in the acidity of the pale red wine cutting through the delicate texture of a rare steak.”

His hand on Will's waist tightened momentarily, then let go.

Will pulled away and stared at Hannibal, mouth agape. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Hannibal was seducing him. It had all the hallmarks. Maybe he truly did not know any better. Hannibal returned his look with amused affection, while the vendor's grin got wider and wider, as he looked from one to the other.

“We'd like to buy a case, my friend”, Hannibal said to him finally, in Italian. 

The man was by now thoroughly enchanted. As he packed their purchases, he talked merrily of the area's many tourist attractions. Perhaps they would like to visit some of them?

No - Will started to say.

Yes, definitely - Hannibal started at the same time, and they traded an awkward smile.

Yes, good, the vendor picked up on the most agreeable answer. There are many beautiful, old places to see. Beautiful Churches, monuments, also a park.

  
It was always like this. The people were taken in with Hannibal's charm and flattered by his mastery of Italian, whenever he chose to speak it. And Hannibal looked entirely in his element, as he breathed in the chilly pristine air of the small town like there was nothing else in the world which suited him more. He had a remarkable ability to adapt to new circumstances with an ease Will had always admired, even envied. Adapt. Evolve. Become.

The streets were paved with cobblestone, and lined with charming stone houses. It felt like another world. Was this the 'other world' where Hannibal would have taken him and Abigail to - Will wondered - but the train of thought was derailed once it became too painful to dwell on.  
Dwelling on things was a rare commodity for Will these days, because Hannibal seemed to have a sixth sense for whenever Will chose to indulge in this pastime, and used such opportunities to playfully push him into new and potentially awkward situations, throwing him off balance, derailing his thoughts and enjoying his reactions with the self-satisfaction of a troublesome but pampered feline. Will was too intrigued by this new side of Hannibal to argue and secretly revelled in such moments.

  
~  
' _Light a candle for your beloved, living and dead,_ ' said the sign outside the small chapel - candles were for sale inside and black metal boxes housed the burning offerings, sheltering them from the elements. An old man stood in front of one of the boxes, holding the metal door ajar while he attempted to light a stubborn candle – the heavy wind kept extinguishing its little flame. Will glanced briefly in his direction, then followed Hannibal into the chapel.

The chapel was entirely carved into stone, its walls white, cold and bare. People shuffled around in reverent silence.

“Strange for a Roman Catholic chapel to be so void of decorations,” Will said on a low voice.

“The chapel on the rocks is less of a religious building and more of a memorial”, Hannibal answered, pointing him to an arresting monument, also carved in stone, at the far end of the room. It featured three women in different postures. Will and Hannibal slowly approached it.

“Oruza, Claudia and Francesca”, Hannibal told him. “Do you know their story?”

Will shook his head.

“During the Napoleonic Wars in Italy, there was a local resistance here, small but fierce - not only the men picked up weapons, but the women as well. These three friends commemorated in this statue formed and led the movement of women who joined the men in battle. Oruza is the one depicted here lying down, eyes closed, hands folded on her chest, with the serene look of someone who died a hero. She had given her name to the local church, as the enemies entered the village – her name wrapped inside an offering, as the custom stated, so they would pray for her, because she was sure she would die that night. She didn't die that night, although, the legend says, not for lack of trying – nor did she die the next day, or the next. She died in the third night of the battle. The slab here says _Ha truffato la morte due volte, ma non il terzo tempo:_ She cheated death twice, but not the third time. Sitting next to her, mourning her, wounded and dishevelled, that’s Claudia, she survived the battles and had the scars to prove it. And here - a little further from them, see - pristine and beautiful, not a hair out of place, that’s Francesca. She did not fight in the battles and victory - insignificant and temporary as it was, was gained without her. Whether because she was a coward or because her family locked her inside the house, as she later claimed - it is of little consequence - in the end, only our actions remain, not the motivation for our inaction."

“She shouldn't be here at all", Will said, not questioning the strangeness of the story. "She is remote from them. Whatever mystery and bond the other two share, she is not part of it.”

“However, due respect is paid to her for having shared and upholded the same ideal, by means other than violence. I believe neither Claudia nor Francesca should be here. I care not for the ideal, I care for the sacrifice. Oruza is the happiest, to whom all mysteries have been revealed, she is the hero of the story. Look at the people around,” Hannibal made a vague movement towards the other visitors, who were gravitating, like they had been, towards the monument. “They all revere and envy her.”

“You envy her as well”, Will replied, startled. “Why?”

“I envy her position. Her status. And her certainties.”

“But not her end.”

“Her end as such, no. Her glorious becoming. She sits here, immovable in stone, glowing in the candlelight, and she rules over this little realm. We have reached her by a long and narrow way, which we navigated through a labyrinth of stone and trees, encountering wild beasts along the way.”

Will reached out shakily and touched the cold stone of Oruza's face. He understood what Hannibal meant, and shared his respect and fascination with the dead woman. He swayed on his feet and lost balance momentarily, almost falling to the ground. Hannibal caught him, supporting him. “Let's go, Will. You're exhausted. I shouldn't have brought you this far, you're not fully recovered.”

“No, I'm fine. Why _did_ you bring me here?”

“The world is made of fireflies and snails, Will. Fireflies light up the world, and themselves, in a symphony of flames, always burning, never sitting still.”

“And snails?”

“Snails get eaten”, Hannibal replied brusquely.

Will sat down heavily at the corner end of the slab, near Francesca. 

“Why did you bring me here?” he repeated. 

“So you could see.”

Will nodded. “I do see. It’s my curse.”

“It is a gift, not a curse”, Hannibal replied, sitting down next to him. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“I see a long corridor of night, with light at the very far end. Coldness seeps from the walls, and creatures rustle in the darkness. There is only one way, forward, but the light moves further and further away. And the shuffling of nameless things gets louder and louder.”

“Do you keep going?”

“Yes. I have to.”

“What if you stopped? Stopping is also an option.”

Will considered it.

“No, stopping is far too terrifying an option to contemplate. I can't –“

“But isn't going forward, through the dark corridor, towards a light that moves further and further away, exactly the same as stopping?”

“No, it isn't. It's really not”, Will whispered, looking up at Hannibal pleadingly, needing him to understand. “There is comfort in moving through the dark corridor. Just in moving. Somehow I don't think - I want to reach the end”, he finished on a barely audible whisper.  
Hannibal straightened.

“You have a dual nature, Will. You are both Claudia and Francesca.”

“I am not a snail, Hannibal.”

“There is a part of you that, even now, even after everything we've been through, sits untouched and remote, like this”, he pointed to the statue next to him, and Will turned to look at her slowly, in disbelief.

“Look at her”, Hannibal goaded. “She turns your stomach, doesn't she? She doesn't belong here. Who is she to be here? Well, I tell you that you are her.”

Will recoiled as if Hannibal had just slapped him. 

“You're being unfair, and cruel.”

“I'm being all you need me to be. I want to help you see. Since I do have your wellbeing in mind, much as you seem to doubt it, we're going to leave now. I don't want you to catch your death here, come on.”

“That's a funny way to put it. I thought that's exactly what you wanted me to catch.”

“The idea of death, maybe. Its momentuous and unexpected quality. Come on”, he pulled him up by his arms. “You have a fever.”

“You are my fever”, Will mumbled.

“I am the cause of your fever?”

“Not just the cause, no. You are the part of me that goes up in flames.”

“I'm worried about you. It's a long way down, remember? Do you feel up to it?”

“It's either that or stay here, isn't it? I'm alright. If there's a light at the end of the corridor, I want to at least try to find it.”

Will stood up, testing the resolve of his legs. They weren't wholly steady, but they would have to do. He didn't want to show Hannibal any more signs of weakness. With one last look at the monument of the three friends, Will left the chapel.

As they passed over the threshold, Hannibal stopped.

“Do you want to light a candle for Abigail?” he asked Will, pointing towards the sign.

 

_'Light a candle for your beloved, living and dead.'_

 

“Since when do you light candles?” Will smiled incredulously, almost mockingly.

“I don't. I extinguish them. But I thought you might.”

“Please”, Will laughed, hollow. “Let's go.”

“As you wish.”

Will studied him covertly, trying to gauge if he was disappointed or if he achieved whatever he wanted by bringing them here. Hannibal's face betrayed nothing but solicitousness for Will who started on the long way down with heavy uncertain steps. But as usual, Will could feel him better than Hannibal chose to show. He felt his satisfaction and almost exhilarating happiness, felt the heedy thrill of it stabbing through the dullness of his fever, making his head spin with supressed excitement.

 

“Will. I think we're being followed.”

“We shouldn't have risked coming to a crowded place like this.”

“I don't think we need worry about that, unless Uncle Jack is more subtle than I gave him credit for. The man who follows us is old and decrepit, with a limp. We could evade him easily.”

Will turned furtively and caught a glimpse of the old man whom he saw attempting to shelter his candle from the wind at the chapel on the rocks.

“What do you think he wants, then?”

“I must admit I'm curious. We will allow him to gain on us.”

Hannibal and Will slowed their pace and the old man soon caught up with them, falling into step beside them. 

“Buonasera”, Hannibal greeted him politely.

“Buonasera”, the man mumbled. “Possiamo parlare?”

“In Inglese, per favore, se per te va bene”, Hannibal answered, motioning to Will, “He does not speak Italian. If that is not possible, I will translate.”

“No, no. It is possible”, the man answered.

He fell into silence then, as they continued to descend the steep path downhill. 

“I saw you at the chapel”, he finally said. “I heard you.”

“Which part of our conversation could have possibly been of interest to you?” Hannibal asked.

The old man paused briefly, gathering his words carefully in English.

“You spoke of death with reverence.”

“I saw you at the chapel, too”, Will intervened. “You were lighting a candle.”

“A candle which never stays lit”, the man smiled sadly. 

“We cannot help you”, Hannibal says. “We extinguish candles, we do not light them.”

“That is precisely why you can help me”, the man said, and extended his arms in supplication. “Please, come with me. Come to my house, as guests.”

Hannibal nodded magnaminously and followed the old man who turned left onto a forest path. Will frowned, but followed.

Darkness had completely enveloped the land and snow started falling, timidly but steadily, as they reached the old man's house. The man unlocked the door and motioned them inside, turning on the lights and revealing a sparse but well-kept dining room. They all sat down around a low oak table.

"I have been waiting for you", the old man said. "You're my angels of death."

A yellow cat jumped out of the shadows and onto the table, startling them.

The man grabbed it and set it down gently on the floor, shushing it. The cat miaowed discontentedly and the man lifted it back up, setting it down on his lap and began petting it absently.

“I will tell you a story. I will try to tell it in English but - words do not come easy.”

“Say it in Italian”, Hannibal prompted. “I'll translate for him.”

“People sometimes come to the chapel on the rocks for comfort”, the old man began in Italian, with Hannibal translating for Will, word for word, “as strange as it may seem, to seek comfort in death. But there _is_ a strange comfort in death, is it not? At least that's how it seems to people who deem themselves still far away from it,” The old man paused and then, in hushed, halting words, just for Hannibal's ears, recounted his story. Hannibal waited patiently as the man stumbled and cried his way into the tale. When he was sure the story had finished, Hannibal turned to Will and recounted drily:

“This man has left his wife to die, because he didn't take her pains seriously - she had a stomachache, and he advised her to sleep it off, thinking she only had too much to eat, and ignoring her cries. During the night, her appendix burst and she died. He sees himself as guilty for her death.”

The old man sensed the dramatic quality of his story was being diminished and intervened, in English:

“I let my family down. What would you do for your family?”

“I’d kill”, Hannibal said truthfully.

“Then you must punish me.”

“I said i'd kill for my family. I didn't say i'd kill for yours.”

He turned to Will:

“Murder or mercy?” he asked with a smirk.

“In this case, it seems to be a case of 'and', rather than 'or'”, Will answered.

“Exactly.” 

There was silence for a while.

“It will be his choice”, Hannibal said to the man, in Italian, indicating Will.

But Will shook his head, disgusted with himself for even considering it.

“No...no. God, no.”

Hannibal turned a grin onto the waiting man.

“You’ll get to live. In your case, death wouldn't be a punishment, it would be a reward. Do you want to be rewarded, amico mio, or punished?”

The man hesitated, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“I'll tell you what should befall you. You are carrying a sin within yourself and the knowledge of your sin carves a black hole in your innards. The pain of it is so great that you wish to substitute it with blessed unconsciousness and forgetfulness. All'inizio e La Morte. Siamo felici di sentire il suo gelido abbraccio: Happy are we to feel its icy cold embrace. Well, not for you this happiness, amico mio. Non per te. Something must be taken from you - so that you'll miss it. So that you'll feel its loss like a javelin wound.” 

“Shall we take his eyes, the eyes with which he beheld his wife's suffering and did nothing about it?”

“Mio cuore, mio cuore che si rompe!” 

Hannibal's answer to him was short:

“No.”

He turned back to Will:

“His deaf ears, perhaps - on which her calls for help fell upon?”

“Hannibal –”

“His tongue, which held false promise?”

“Hannibal, stop it. Let's just leave.”

“We're not leaving, Will - not until you make your choice.”

He stepped closer.

“Does this bring back memories, of what that man you killed would have done to you? It shouldn't. You're not a victim, Will. You chose to be the dealer of pain, not the receptacle of it. And you're not like this man here, either. He is weak with guilt because he chooses to be so, and I would not reward him for his frailty. Choose again now, choose wisely.”

“One cannot always choose one's fate”, Will pointed out, slurring the words heavily.

“Fireflies and snails, Will”, Hannibal reminded him.

Will's eyes sparkled with fever and a kind of madness. He turned them on Hannibal.

“Let's take his heart, as he would have it.”

“That's not what you said in the beginning.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Are you sure? Let's sit. Drink some wine. Ponder our choices. Amico mio, have some wine with us. Dig out some glasses.”

Pouring elegantly pale red wine into their three glasses, as if he was in his office in Baltimore, in front of his fireplace, discussing art and murder, Hannibal spoke to Will:

“Choosing when to deal death and when not to is one of God's most exquisite forms of torture.” 

“And are we not created in his image?” Will finished for him. “Frederick Chilton would agree with you. He sent Crump after me with the intention of leaving me alive after he was done mutilating me.”

Will remembered, far in another world, Frederick Chilton's pretentious monotone imparting yet another piece of conventional wisdom: “Saving lives can be just as arousing as ending them,” and smirked at the memory.

“I saved Bella Crawford's life once, did you know?” Hannibal said, conversationally.

Will shook his head.

“She was in the last stage of her cancer when she came to me pondering death. I told her death was not to fear, but to embrace. Not a defeat, but a cure. She was comforted by the idea and I knew it wouldn't be long before she took her own life. But she made the mistake of choosing to do it in my office. She placed her fate into my hands. I couldn't resist.”

“Couldn't resist what?” Will asked, suspecting, but needing to be sure.

“Playing her life on a coin toss.”

“God”, Will shuddered, involuntarily.

“Precisely”, Hannibal grinned. “God decided she should live after all. She never forgave me for it.”

Hannibal's gaze turned inward, recollecting the coin toss that decided Bella's fate, and gave a slight content smile.

“She slapped me, you know”, he told Will, on a reminiscing tone. “What a remarkable woman she was.”

The old man looked from one to the other, understanding only bits and pieces of their conversation, but knowing his fate was being decided.

“I would let him live a long, long life”, Hannibal said. “It is precisely the sort of ironic thing God would do.”

“Would you take anything from him?”

“Not anything major, or life-threatening. Something symbolic.”

“An appendectomy? Could you perform that here, doctor?”

Hannibal looked around the shack. 

“I can hardly assume this place will be sterile, but I can try. Amico mio, do you have anything in this house stronger than wine?”

“Yes”, the man answered, eyes wide. 

“Well, bring it here. You'll need it.”

As the man disappeared in a back room, Hannibal drained his glass and straightened, winking at Will. 

“This will be a challenge to cook.”

 

~

“He will be the happier for it”, Will told Hannibal, later into the night, as they made their way back along the forest path.

“That you are preoccupied with that man's happiness”, Hannibal said, frowning, “should deeply unsettle me - but I find it does not.” He shrugged, minutely. “It is a beautiful night, is it not, Will?” He stopped to breathe deeply. “We have been gods tonight.”

Will looked at his chiseled profile in the moonlight. 

“Or we have been mad”, he said, with no real feeling. “You are mad, and I'm enabling you. Or you're enabling me. Folie a deux.”

“Madness is an indulgence one should afford from time to time. It keeps one sane.”

“In small doses?”

“Yes. Come closer, take my arm. We'll be home soon.”

 

It was only later, far into the night, when Will woke momentarily from a fever dream, that the real meaning of their journey dawned on him. Hannibal didn't bring him to the chapel on the rocks to berate him for his misplaced loyalties, or his inaction. Terrorizing him with the fate of snails wouldn't be sustainable. How could he? Will had always been happy to bleed for Hannibal, (and by his hand, too), and to wear his armour in battle.  No: this was Hannibal's reminder that he was living on borrowed time already. He had already cheated death twice, and Oruza's story served as a reminder that three times would be too much.

It was Hannibal's way of reminding him that one who lives on borrowed time does not have the luxury of hesitation and doubt.

He was trembling under the blanket, his teeth chattering. He still felt the cold from the crypt. Hannibal came to sit on the bed next to him, and ran a steady hand along his face and through his hair. Independent of any issues of resentment, morality and identity, the touch felt good. He remembered a different touch which felt absurdly good, the kiss that Hannibal gave him before he turned himself in. He wondered whether he could separate the pleasure and comfort he always got from Hannibal touching him, from everything else that Hannibal was, if he was allowed to.

Everything that Hannibal was.

What //was// he?

This was the man who could use his knowledge and skills to save people but chose not to, because it interfered with his personal aesthetics. This was the man who decided life and death on a coin toss. This was the man who delighted in real tragedy as much as he delighted in high art.

Will pushed that train of thought aside. He did not want to think in terms of contrasts. He did not want to think, at all. He allowed random flashes of memory and emotion to do the judging for him.

Hannibal smoothing over a table cloth with concentrated care.

Hannibal steadying a bottle of wine after pouring to keep any stray drops from spilling.

Undoing the button of his suit before he sat down.

Long elegant hands cutting up the meat, drowning it in vinegar, lavishing it with herbs.

His quiet sense of calm. Reassuring and deceptive. A hidden intensity.

Words that inveigle more than they reveal, but what they do reveal, has the blinding quality of a revelation.

Beautiful golden brown eyes focused on him, always so focused. Freely roaming the palaces of his mind, oblivious to the forts that Will has built for other people.

Because Hannibal was not like other people and the shadow of his intrusion moved through such forts like a ghost passing through walls.

Discovering places Will was slow to find himself.

He leaned into the touch blindly.

Hannibal lifted his head minutely and nudged him into a kiss. Will's eyes snapped open, seeing up close the focus on Hannibal's face, even behind closed eyelids, as he ran his lips over Will's, with slow, caring gentleness. It was like the kiss Will remembered and yet not. It still had the quality of a first between them, and Will wondered how many firsts would the two of them be doomed to revisit, how many moments in time would they be destined to re-create until perfection. Like their first, the kiss was tentative and sensual, more about discovery than possession. Like their first, Will's eyes were heavy with the effort of being open against the sweetness of it. He barely moved for fear of ending the dream-like quality of the moment, but he opened up with instinctual and empathic receptivity of Hannibal's attention. Finally Hannibal pulled back, and that's when Will's eyes finally snapped shut.

A part of Will suspected that this was yet another thread that Hannibal chose to wind around him to tie the both of them even tighter together. To take their codependency to even higher levels.

'Hannibal follows several trains of thought at once, and one of them is always for his own private amusement,' he heard his own voice say.

Hannibal climbed into his bed and lay down, facing Will, pressing himself close, one leg sprawled over Will's. One of his hands was free to move and it did, with the same tentative quality of exploration. Will lay on his back, unmoving, his heavy breathing the only thing betraying his excitement. Finally, when he couldn't stand his stillness any longer, he turned slowly and faced Hannibal. They took in the shadows on each other's faces in the dimly lit room. Hannibal's lips found Will's again and Will moaned and moved into the kiss, with real intent this time.

Will was not particularly sexually active, although mostly by lack of opportunity than by choice - his preferences swayed towards women but he rarely wanted to take the first step as most women seemed to expect. He viewed his sexual curiosity for Hannibal and his attraction to the man as yet another thread in the tangled skein which bound them together - yet another puzzle he could not unravel. His thoughts and desires on the subject were tempered by his impression that for Hannibal sex was mostly something to be sublimated; not an urgent need at the forefront of his mind - but indulged in, with the same elegant and punctilicious care when opportunity arose.

But as if in deliberate contradiction of Will's ideas about himself, Hannibal's kiss grew hungry and demanding as he felt Will respond. He held Will in place and deepened the kiss, thoroughly mapping the uncharted territory that was now his to roam in freely.

Will wondered if his response was not for Hannibal an expression of a larger form of surrender and if that was not a factor in his arousal. Will could feel it hanging in the air around them, heavy and swirling, so present that he felt the imagined urge to sink his teeth in it. 

Hannibal was now devouring Will's lips, with the quality of possessive intent which spurred in Will a mad desire to outdo him, tongue sliding inside his mouth and coaxing Will's own. Satisfied that he got Will to respond in kind, he broke the kiss and moved lower, kissing down Will's neck, teeth nipping at the skin. Will found himself yet again vividly imagining Hannibal biting down and chewing, and he shuddered. Thoughts, feelings, memories and sensations were fighting for supremacy in Will's mind, and when none managed to gain the upper hand, they all started a maddening dance together. 

And Will didn't ask for a reprieve. It was a strange night, the wind was howling and their house was like a boat on the sea. Hannibal's touches left trails of love and ache and desire on his body, without the promise of pain.

Past the point where Will could finally focus on one single sensation, that of pure unadulterated lust - all others drifting peacefully in the sea of forgetfulness -  Hannibal touched him still.

Past the point where Will's mind was a perfect blank of soothing, everlasting white, cast over the writhing sea of tar - Hannibal touched him still.

Past the point where the feelings and sensations left in their wake wreacked such havoc of pleasure on Will's body and delirious mind that the soothing quiet and peace that followed inevitably bore Hannibal's scent - Hannibal touched him still, and the touches were now gentler and quieter, like a blanket of snow.

Will sank eventually in a deep and restful slumber, with the certainty of seeing and being seen, for once not a source of torment but of comfort. He clutched Hannibal to him possessively and Hannibal let himself be held, tightening his own arms around Will whenever he twitched in his sleep.

  
The snow was steadily falling over the land, and in the ancient days people knew that this was a manifestation in the visible world of Persephone spending quality time in the Underworld - they knew that summer was a long way off, but they were content to wait and let the darkness reign awhile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I'm hopeless at writing anything remotely porn-y: ( Bear with me, I hope I'll get better :p
> 
> Here are the Italian words/phrases not already translated in the text:
> 
> “Buonasera. Possiamo parlare?” - "Good Evening. Can we talk?"  
> "In Inglese, per favore, se per te va bene" - "In English, please, if that's alright with you."
> 
> "Amico mio" - My friend
> 
> "All'inizio e La Morte". - In the beginning there was Death.
> 
> "mio cuore che si rompe" - (take) my heart which breaks.
> 
> Please let me know if there are any mistakes, and I'll edit! Thanks.


	6. Chapter 6

Several months had passed since they had settled in Suvereto, months spent in unlikely but undisturbed peace. No one had challenged them and Hannibal seemed content to bask in low-key domesticity for a while. After his reference to ‘recently acquired meat’, Will had watched Hannibal carefully for a while, but failing to notice any suspicious activity, he gradually allowed himself to calm down. Perhaps Hannibal knew that their positions were still not secure, and he would not want to engage in his usual pursuits for hopefully a long time.

For Christmas, Hannibal had got Will a dog – a brown-spotted mutt with short, wiry hair and floppy ears, who looked like a cross between a pointer and a terrier. Will had asked Hannibal to help him pick out a name and Hannibal looked up from where he was cutting vegetables for dinner, and, wide grin barely held in check, suggested the name Encephalitis.

Will’s scoff was so exaggerated that the pup in his arms struggled to get free.

“What?” Hannibal said innocently, eyes warm. “It’s what started everything, didn’t it?”

“And I suppose you find it romantic?”

“In hindsight - perhaps not romantic, but significant.”

“Oh Jesus, you  _do_  find it romantic.”

“Yes, I do.”

Will had started referring to the dog as Encephalitis, at first mockingly, to tease Hannibal, but then he found himself using the name in earnest. Finally, he became resigned to the fact that this was going to be the pup’s name, but as he started to train him, it became obvious that he would have to shorten it. In the end, he settled on Lito, a snappy and inconspicuous name. Lito was growing to be an intelligent and affectionate companion, whose capacity to assimilate foreign languages exceeded Will's, if one judged by his reaction to Hannibal reciting him the names of various meals and ingredients. Hannibal was amused to have such a captive and enthusiastic audience, and Lito was just as fond of Hannibal as he was of Will, and spent hours in the kitchen watching his every move with interest.

As much as Will had grown accustomed to their domesticity, he was too attuned to Hannibal’s moods to not pick up on the fact that the man was gradually becoming restless. The blessed reprieve could only last for so long, Hannibal would soon remember debts to be paid and scores to be settled.

One day, Will was sitting in a café in Florence, when he glimpsed Jack Crawford. He went to Florence once a week for Italian lessons, even though Hannibal had told him they won’t remain in Italy for long. It was some time for himself, seeing other people, and Hannibal seemed to trust him enough to allow him this. Strangely, it hadn’t occurred to either of them that it was risky for Will to be in Florence. And now, Will was more or less face to face with a Jack Crawford who seemed to have aged in a few months more than he had in the last five years. He wore a black fleece jacket and a beanie and his beard looked shaggy and unkempt. It was almost as shocking for Will seeing Jack like this as seeing him in his immediate vicinity. As soon as he glimpsed him, Will realized that Jack had noticed him long before he did, and had been observing him quietly for a while. Will’s mind started working in overdrive. He could try running. He could act like he was in Italy on his own and deny everything. He could wait, and see how much Jack suspected, and play his way carefully from there. He could lure him back home and kill him.

Jack gave him a tight smile as he approached his table, taking a nearby chair and sitting down.

“Hello, Will”, he said.

“Hello, Jack”, Will answered calmly.

“You look good. Last time we met in Italy, you were scarred and haunted. Now you seem….fulfilled.”

“Florence is a beautiful city. I regret not seeing it properly the last time I was here. What brings  _you_  here, Jack?”

“Same thing that brought me here last time.”

“Revenge?”

“I didn’t come to Italy back then to get revenge on Hannibal Lecter. I came for you, because I was worried about you, and I wanted you to have a friend.”

Will swallowed with difficulty.

“And now?”

“Now I don’t know”, Jack said.

A waitress came to their table, asking them if they would like to order something else.

“Let’s get out of here”, Jack said. “Take a walk.”

Will sipped the last of his coffee and asked for the check.

“I am out of the bureau, did you know”, Jack said conversationally, as they walked slowly and aimlessly along a busy street.

“No, I didn’t”, Will replied, startled. “How come?”

“Oh, various reasons. The backlash from the Red Dragon fiasco, Hannibal Lecter’s escape, your subsequent disappearance, and there was also a nasty business of someone lodging a complaint against me that I’ve been ‘harassing them on the phone.’ I had another such complaint made against me before, from Mason Verger, and it added up. Neither were true, by the way.”

Will nodded. He guessed it might have been Bedelia, but who knew what other enemies Jack Crawford may have made. He wasn’t an easy man to like. But Will had liked him, and he had considered him a friend.

“I’m sorry”, he said aloud. “So you were dismissed?”

“Not as such. They set conditions before me, humiliating ones, you know, the kind of punishment they give rookie agents for misplacing evidence. I couldn’t go through with it. So I quit.”

Will remained silent.

“I should have quit a long time ago”, Jack continued. “The horror, the loss of life, the meaninglessness of it, trying to make sense of the absurd…it gets to you. Losing good people”, he added, as an afterthought.

“What are you doing in Florence, Jack?“

“It’s good to have seen you, Will. I hope you still consider me a friend.”

“Are you still looking for Hannibal, off the bureau’s dime? I’ve told you, and everyone’s told you: he’s dead.”

“Here is my hotel”, Jack said, stopping. “I have a full minibar inside the room, let’s have a proper drink.

“Jack”, Will said, shaking his head. “I refuse to reinforce your delusion.”

Jack opened his fleece coat to reveal a gun at his belt.

“I may be off the bureau’s dime but I still know how to use a gun”, he said, forgoing his friendly tone. “Now, I’ll repeat more slowly. Let’s go upstairs and have a drink. And a chat. Mostly a chat. Capisce?”

Will considered calling his bluff, but decided getting shot wasn’t worth the risk. His most recent memory of getting shot was a particularly nasty one.

He and Jack entered the hotel and took the elevator towards Jack’s floor in stony silence.

Jack unlocked the door to his room, motioned Will inside and then locked it again behind them.

“Are you going to kill me?” Will asked.

“Are you?” Jack countered. “I've lost you, Will, haven't I?”

“You’ve lost me since you decided to come to my house after three years and pull me back in.”

“Pull you back in, is that how you call it?” Jack frowned.

“Yes, pull me back into all this”, Will gestured wildly, in frustration.

“That's funny, because that's not how I'd call it”, Jack answered, raising his voice. “I'd say I was doing everything in my power to catch a killer and I assumed that's how you'd see it too. I know it wasn't easy, leaving your peaceful little house behind but we all have jobs to do and assuming otherwise is selfish!”

“Yes, I had peace and I worked hard for that peace”, Will mumbled, eyes downcast. Then Jack's final word seemed to register with him and he looked up, raising his voice, as well: “Wait a minute, selfish? You're unbelievable, Jack. You practically blackmail me into it, you guilt Molly into persuading me to come, you use me and abuse me every step of the way, our whole relationship has been one where you have ever so subtly manipulated me without an  _ounce_  of blame to be found in you..”

Jack smiled bitterly.

“These aren't your words coming out of your mouth, Will. They're Hannibal's. And he would have you think that, because it's  _him_  who's been manipulating you every step of the way in your relationship. But don't worry, I'm gonna put a stop to that. I'm gonna put a stop to  _him_. Where is he?”

“He’s dead. Gone. Find yourself another crusade, Jack”, Will yelled.

“Stop lying to me, dammit. I know he’s alive, and I know he’s close by, he must be. With or without your help, I’m going to find him and I’m gonna bleed him. He’s going straight to hell.”

“Let’s see who gets there first”, Will taunted.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Jack chuckled. “My bloodhound's turned against me. Okay. Fair enough. I'm alright with that. Because I'm done trying to save you, Will, I'm done making up excuses for you, to anyone who will listen. You're good, yes, and it's true I needed you, but you're not irreplaceable. It's funny, someone once said to me that I have to cut you loose, otherwise I might be that someone getting left behind. How right they've been, in hindsight. Well, better late than never. Sometimes you need to cut your losses, and I'm counting you as a loss. You're only useful to me now in getting to him. Because he'll come for you, won't he? Or maybe he won't. He's left you behind before. Guess we'll just have to see.”

He circled Will warily, preparing to attack.

“Jack, don't do this. I don't want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Jack laughed again, benevolently. “Don't worry, you won't get to hurt me. I'm gonna bring you to heel like a disobedient pup.”

Will lunged at him, but Jack was ready with a swift punch. It caught Will in the nose, which started bleeding profusely, and he swayed on his feet, trying to recover his bearings. Before he could do so, Jack hit him again, another face punch, which threw him to the floor.

Jack knelt down and started to handcuff him.

“I'm disappointed”, he said. “I knew I was gonna win this fight but I expected you to make me work for it more. And I was looking forward to making you my punching bag, to make up for you making a laughingstock of me. Oh well. Guess you really don't have it in you, boy. It's alright. I'll refrain from kicking you when you're down.”

He pulled Will's phone from his coat and tied an impromptu gag around Will's face with his hastily removed tie.

“I'll do the talking”, he clarified, as he looked for Hannibal's number.

“Hotel Duomo, room 217", Will heard him say straight away, without any introduction. I’ll be waiting an hour. If you’re not here until then, we’ll be gone, and I’ll let the local police deal with you.”

He turned off the phone, without waiting for a reply.

Will noticed Jack had told Hannibal the room number opposite them, probably anticipating that Hannibal might try to orchestrate something.

Jack moved to the window and stood there, surveying the entrance to the hotel. Will grunted, and tried to sit up. It was difficult without any leverage, but he finally managed to push himself into a sitting position, and propped his back on the edge of the bed. It was considerably more difficult to apply enough pressure to break his thumb and so escape the handcuffs, with his hands bound behind him.

Jack gave him a warning glance.

“Stay down. Stay put.”

“Or what?” Will tried to speak, around his gag, but only an angry snarl came out.

He tried to headbutt Jack as he approached him, and Jack, who had only seemed to wait for a flicker of resistance to get going, started punching him savagely – in his face, his chest, his stomach. Will gasped and writhed, falling back down on the floor, attempting to crawl away from the punches.

Jack suddenly seemed to remember that he had a job and left Will, taking back his post at the window.

It couldn’t have been more than 20 minutes since the phone call, when Jack said “Here we go.”

Will frowned, despite feeling relieved. Suvereto was at least a two-hour drive away from Florence, not counting the mid-day traffic inside the city. Hannibal must have already been in Florence today. Why had he not told him that yesterday, so they could have gone together? Was it a last-minute thing? Could he have known about Jack? He tried to focus. His face throbbed and itched.

Jack pulled out his gun and approached the door slowly.

Will had a momentary fear he was going to shoot Hannibal in the back, while his attention was focused on the room opposite. He needn’t have worried. Jack reached the door, unlocked it silently, looked through the peephole and waited. And waited.

“What’s he doing?” he rasped out angrily.

All of a sudden, deafening in the silence of the room, a hard knock came – on the right door. Jack jumped back, he had seen no one through the peephole. His face darkened as he realized Hannibal had seen through his ploy. The knocking continued, politely insistent – this time Hannibal allowed himself to be seen through the peephole, and Jack swung the door open, gun trained on him.

“Playing games, Doctor Lecter?”

“Always, Jack”, Hannibal said, with a relaxed smile. “You told me the wrong room number. But I put two and two together. With what you had in mind, you never would have chosen a room without a view of the main entrance. An easy mistake to make. Especially if you’re new at this sort of thing.”

He stepped inside the room leisurely, looked distractedly out the window, purposefully ignoring Jack, then turned to survey the room, his eyes landing on Will, who tried – and failed abysmally - to appear as unconcerned as Hannibal seemed to be. Hannibal’s gaze took stock of all his injuries and his upper lip twitched momentarily in anger, but he mastered himself swiftly and turned to Jack:

“So. What is this to be? You have a gun in your hand. I have none. It seems to me an unfair fight.”

“I don’t care anymore, if it’s fair or unfair, as long as you go down. A shot to the head. There was a time when I would have wanted to see you suffer, now I don’t even want that – I just want justice.”

Hannibal nodded.

“And Will? Does he get your ‘justice’ too?”

“After I’m done with you, I’ll let Will go. Even to go to the police and have me arrested. I’ll go to jail for a while, sure. Small price to pay for being the one who put you down.”

“Yes. Many have tried, none succeeded, so far”, Hannibal said, with a small glance in Will’s direction. “So what are you waiting for, then? Are you waiting for me to fight so you can claim self defense and shorten your time in prison? Are you saying a prayer, Jack? Is murder in cold blood justified when it’s a monster you’re killing? What would Bella say if she could see you now, Jack?”

“Shut up, don’t you dare – don’t you dare say her name”, Jack spluttered. “On your knees. I don’t want you to fight. I want you to beg.”

“I’ll never beg, and I’ll never get on my knees, not in front of you. You’ll shoot me standing, or not at all.”

Will made a muffled noise of protest, and tried to rise, ignoring the sharp pains in his bruised stomach. Jack turned the gun on him, not letting Hannibal out of his sight.

“Stay down, Will, or I’ll shoot your kneecaps. Hell, I’ll shoot you in the head as well. Save you from the monster you’re becoming.”

“How very philanthropic of you”, Hannibal observed.

Jack pulled the safety on his gun, and a shot rang out, deafening. Will screamed behind the gag, but Hannibal did not fall.

Jack did, to his knees. Bewildered, Will followed his line of sight, towards the open door.

“Bedelia”, Jack panted.

Will stared at the woman who was now standing in the doorway, gun in hand. 

“Hello, Jack”, she smiled. “I was in the neighbourhood.”

She advanced on him. She wore a smart tweed suit and a headscarf, in muted earth tones.

“On your knees”, she said mockingly. “Good position, that. But now, stand up.” She took off her headscarf, bundled it up and threw it to him. “Tie this around your thigh. We don’t want to make a mess. You know I’m perfectly capable of blowing your brains out, now come, on, let’s go.”

“Go where?” Jack asked.

“Downstairs, for starters. You’re going to check out. Then we’ll go some place where we can talk – on our own terms.”

“ _Our_?” Jack said, sarcastically, with a glance to Hannibal.

Will understood it in a flash – Hannibal and Bedelia had probably arrived together, but Hannibal told Bedelia to stay hidden from the line of sight of the hotel room window, but keep her eyes on it, until he arrived in the room. Hannibal looking out the window when he first came into the room would have been the sign she was waiting for to come up. Jack’s biggest mistake was not locking the door after Hannibal had come in. Hannibal was right, Jack was new at this sort of thing. Will wanted to feel sorrier for Jack, but his mind kept circling around the implications of Hannibal and Bedelia being together in Florence, and Hannibal hiding it from Will. Most likely they were together when Hannibal received Jack’s call. Will felt disgusted with himself that a man he used to call his friend was probably going to be dead very soon (he was usually right about these kind of things), yet his overwhelming feeling was that of jealousy and betrayal, not grief. (The grief would hit him later, after the initial shock had passed. The grief would come, and bitterness, and remorse, and bone-weary sadness).

But in the sunny room 237 at Hotel Duomo, he lay numb on the floor and hardly reacted when he felt Hannibal uncuff him and check his injuries.

“Are you badly hurt?” Hannibal asked him, as he worked to untie his gag.

“My pride more than anything else”, Will sniffed, when he could finally speak. “I couldn't possibly be more humiliated.”

“Just humiliated, yes? Not conflicted?”

Will threw him a quick look.

“No.”

“No second thoughts about which side of the fight you'd pick, thus making you easier to subdue?”

“I guess we'll never know now, will we?” he answered, with a note of childish tantrum in his voice.”

“We might yet”, Hannibal answered seriously.

They stared each other down for a beat, as Bedelia's eyes moved from one to the other, taking in their interaction.

“We really have to go”, she insisted, as the moment threatened to prolong itself.

Cuffs in hand, Hannibal advanced towards Jack.

“Keep your hands in front of you.”

He cuffed him, then took off his own coat and folded it over Jack’s hands, concealing his wrists underneath.

“You know what to do, Bedelia”, he told her, in a low voice.

Her eyes flashed to his, with a quick smile of acquiescence.

Hannibal then turned to Will:

“Come on. We’ll use the emergency exit to get out.”

Will had a momentary desire to argue, shout, claim to know what’s happening, even try to wrestle the gun from Bedelia. He was curious if she’d shoot him to incapacitate, or go straight for the kill. He knew Hannibal probably shared that same curiosity. It was most likely something Bedelia herself could not provide an answer to, unless forced to make that choice, and for a few seconds, Will considered allowing her that possibility, and all of them the knowledge of it. Hannibal watched him with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, which showed he was fully aware of Will’s train of thought. Will’s eyes dimmed. It was all a game to Hannibal, he was always playing. When did he ever lose that certainty – somewhere between nights spent timidly but enthusiastically pleasuring each other and getting a dog? Or in the aftermath of lazy evenings spent together in comfortable silence, Hannibal sketching, Will reading – that certainty must have slowly faded away as a thing of the past and incomprehensible in the face of the new reality. But now Will felt its ghostly sting.

Without a word to anyone in the room, Will stepped outside and moved towards the emergency exit, as directed. He heard Hannibal come up behind him.

“Your face looks smashed”, he informed him.

Will shrugged.

“It would raise considerable suspicion”, Hannibal continued, “and we would like to avoid that for now.”

“ _We_ ”, said Will, in the same tone that Jack had said “ _our_.”

“I imagine you have questions, but now is not the time for it. We must direct our attention to the situation at hand.”

“Of course”, Will agreed, with exaggerated solicitousness. “Are you going to kill Jack?”

“No”, Hannibal replied. “I am not.”

His car was parked on a side street not far from the hotel, and they climbed in. Hannibal swerved on various side streets, getting further and further away from the town centre, until he stopped in front of what looked like an old abandoned asylum. He stopped the car and got out. Will looked inquiringly at him.

“Why are we here?”

“We’re waiting for Jack and Bedelia.”

“And then?”

“We talk.”

“About?”

“We seem to have a problem, and we must attempt to solve it, to all our benefit.”

“All our benefit, even Jack’s?”

“The needs of the many must outweigh the need of the one”, Hannibal misquoted.

“I see”, Will said. “I can’t let you do this.”

Hannibal grinned.

Then gradually, his smile faded and he frowned. He checked his watch, then he looked on one side of the road, then the other. His upper lip twitched, with the same involuntary annoyance he displayed in the hotel room.

Will watched him, and a grin slowly formed on his own face.

“She tricked you, didn’t she? They’re not coming. Only God knows where she is by now. Or the devil, more likely.”

“It is no matter”, Hannibal answered, recovering his calm. “Perhaps it is even better this way, as it will save us the trouble of covering our tracks.”

“Aren’t you afraid they’ll strike a deal?” Will prodded him. “They might turn against you. Or do you trust Bedelia that much?”

“I don’t trust her at all. But I respect her judgement, I always have.”

“Oh, that’s alright then”, Will said, sarcastically.

Hannibal looked at him sharply, and Will felt quite pleased.

He refused to discuss any of the events of the day with him, did not ask any questions about him and Bedelia, and answered Hannibal’s questions about Jack only monosyllabically. He realized he was sulking childishly, instead of dealing with it like an adult, but he felt absurdly satisfied at denying Hannibal any insight into his thoughts, and correctly appreciated that it was something which Hannibal found particularly frustrating. Hannibal tended to his injuries, and this was a game which they would usually be very eager to indulge in, but this time, no matter how gentle and sensual Hannibal’s touches, Will held himself rigid and did not lean into them, staring somewhere past him. That night, he had the impulse to sleep in the guest room, but he curbed it, because he didn’t want to give Hannibal the satisfaction of an open conflict, which he could manipulate to his advantage. He kept resolutely to his side of the bed, however, and Hannibal did not question that.

~

Bedelia showed up at their house the next day.

“It is done”, she said.

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?” Hannibal inquired, none too pleased.

“Unless you want to kill me”, she said. “But that won’t cement your certainty either. Or maybe you intend to torture me?”

Will thought he couldn’t have possibly imagined the flirtatious tone in her voice.

“I’m trying to keep a low profile”, Hannibal told her by way of answer.

“Look. It’s taken care of. I covered my tracks like you advised. I didn’t want to involve you, and especially not _him.”_ She pointed her chin briefly to indicate Will. “I never know what the hell he’ll choose to do,” she added. 

Will narrowed his eyes at her. Hannibal smiled at the both of them, in genuine enjoyment.

“All that’s needed now is for me to disappear,” Bedelia went on, directing all her attention back to Hannibal.

She paused, uncertainly.

“Are you waiting for my blessing?” Hannibal asked.

“I know I could hardly hope to escape you, even at the ends of the earth. I have appeased myself. Now the only thing left for me to do is appease you.”

“I could hardly harm you after you so graciously and opportunely saved my life, Bedelia. I am not crass.”

It seemed to Will that another meaningful look passed between them, and then Hannibal said:

“Quid pro quo, Bedelia. It is done.”

Bedelia smiled, with undisguised relief.

 

The three of them sat around a table that evening, eyes sparkling after a satisfying dinner and several glasses of fine wine. Even Will was relaxed, and indulgent – the atmosphere felt strangely cosmopolitan. The talk was idle and light.

Hannibal had for once forsaken classical music for Italian folk songs – he was cheerful and he seemed to dictate the mood of their little gathering. The music was very engaging, a token of that Mediterranean sparkle of merriment bubbling just under the surface, always ready to burst forth in laughter or in song.

 Bedelia set her wine glass on the table and stood up, kicked off her heels and swished her long skirt around, in time with the music.

She moved away from the table, towards the centre of the room, her movements now more intently confident.

Hannibal joined in, circling her, and beating the same staccato time with his elegant shoes.

 

_E ai, e ai, e ai lu core meu,_

_meu meu meu ca su lu core tou_

 

Bedelia moved swiftly, changing direction with gusto, throwing her hair about in the rhythm of the music, and smiling at Hannibal, who smiled back with appreciation. He kept circling her elegantly, following her movements, mirroring and complementing them but not challenging them, supporting but not leading, leaning in, then leaning away, never straying too close. This dance was hers to lead.

 

_Ne-la ne-la ne-la ni-nà_

 

The music swirled happily and they broke into laughter at the pure simple joy of it, and at the happiness of keeping skillful time with it. They smiled at each other without pretense or care, and they caught Will's eye and smiled at him, as they twisted and turned, showing off their moves for him. Will watched them at first with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, but then, quite unconsciously, found himself grinning and laughing with delight. It was madness, the wine was strong and the music was beautiful.

 

_beddha l'amore, beddha l'amore_

_beddha l'amore, e ci la sape fa'._

~

Will opened his eyes in the calm of the morning and looked over in bed. Bedelia met his look with a quiet smile. Hannibal was fast asleep between them. Will smiled back.

“Where to now, Bedelia?” he whispered quietly.

“Oh, anywhere”, she said, matching his tone. “Sky’s the limit. Can’t make my sun stand still, I’l make him run.”

“You’re free. You offered Hannibal Jack’s life on a silver plate, just like you meant to – and he did spare you.”

“I offered him more than Jack’s life. You said it yourself once, that alone wouldn’t have saved me.”

“So what else did you offer him? Besides sex?” Will guessed.

“Oh, the sex was a gift we bestowed on each other”, she drawled. “For old times’ sake.” She studied Will’s reaction, grinning.

Will swallowed his hurt and refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him even roll his eyes.

“I don’t care”, he said. “What else?”

“I told him where to find an old friend.”

Alana, Will immediately thought. So his instincts hadn’t been wrong after all. Hannibal *was restless, and he *was anticipating settling an old score.

“Where?” he asked.

Bedelia looked furtively at Hannibal who was sleeping soundly between them.

“No offense, Will. But my job was to deliver the information to Hannibal. He’ll choose whether or not to share it with you.”

“Aren’t you an obedient little bitch”, Will couldn’t help but sneer.

“What did you say?” Bedelia’s voice rang out in an unpleasantly harsh whisper.

Hannibal opened his eyes slowly, and noted, none too affected:

“The magic of last night did not live on until the morning.”

“No, it did not”, Will said pointedly. “You two can try recreating it while I walk Lito.”

He left the room, whistling for the dog, and did not look behind him.

When he returned, two whole hours later, Bedelia was gone. Will made no comment about that, and neither did Hannibal. Any such discussion would have led inevitably to the address Bedelia had procured for Hannibal, and Will wanted to wait before he brought that up, prepare his strategy carefully before attacking.

It was two days later, when Hannibal was asking him what sort of cheese dressing he would prefer for the pasta salad, that Will blurted out:

“Did you sleep with her?”

“No”, Hannibal answered immediately, without asking for clarifications.

“She told me you did.”

“That’s Bedelia for you. I was thinking Provolone, does that suit you?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Not that I’d blame you if you did. You do whatever you want, I mean obviously.”

“Of course. But I did not want to sleep with her, so I did not.”

Will nodded absently. He didn’t believe Hannibal, but he didn’t want to show any more vulnerability by insisting. He shrugged and started grinding the black peppers for the salad.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Okay, since this is the world in which Will and Hannibal survived a cliff dive with those injuries, this can also be the world where Bedelia can dance the pizzica with a prosthetic leg :D If not, let's imagine she could because she's a goddess :) Also, here is the traditional song from which I quoted the lyrics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEVB_QAtgwI  
> 2) Thanks, Mads for the headcanon w/ Encephalitis the dog. I notice everyone’s using it in their fics : ))  
> 3) I did not change the tags, because: A: !spoilers! B: !Ambiguity! – did Bedelia & Hannibal really sleep together? did Bedelia really kill Jack? I know it’s evil of me to leave it like this for now, but it’s nothing the show itself wouldn’t have done (oh, the joy of not knowing shit for certain, and speculating, haha). Also, tags just don’t cut it for me, I don’t know which tags to use more than half the time anyway. But one thing you’ll never have to worry about, is that the main focus of this story will shift – it won’t, until the end it will be about the relationship between Will and Hannibal, which is honestly just starting.


	7. Chapter 7

Will’s mind was so focused on old scores that he completely failed to account for and guard against any new ones. So it was entirely unexpected when he arrived home one evening and found Hannibal in the basement of the house, methodically carving up a human corpse, isolating the edible parts into neat little boxes.

Will froze.

“What have you done?”

Hannibal paused, a mildly impatient look on his face.

“What does it look like?” he asked sharply.

Will regarded him steadily, refusing to let himself be intimidated.

One corner of Hannibal’s mouth quirked:

“The question is – what are you going to do about it?”

“Not forgive myself for not killing you when I had the chance”, Will murmured.

“It’s never too late”, Hannibal said cheerfully.

He stepped forward until he came within reach of Will and placed the knife in Will’s hand, tightening their hands together over it.

“Come on. Straight over the jugular.”

Will didn’t react and Hannibal pulled him, and the knife, closer.

“If at first you don’t succeed”, he whispered, low and intimately, “try, try again.”

Will wrenched himself out of Hannibal’s grasp.

“You don’t get to decide this for me. When I do it, it’ll be on my own terms. You’ll be looking over your shoulder for me, starting at every noise, at every touch, wondering – is this _it_? Is this when I choose to end you?”

Hannibal’s eyes lit up.

Will’s shoulders slumped, dejected, with the knowledge that whatever he did, however he played it – there was nothing he could do to Hannibal that he wouldn’t ultimately find interesting. He had made himself absurdly at home in all the corners of Will’s mind and heart and yet nothing about Will bored him with the quality of the familiar – it seemed there was no facet of him that Hannibal could not love. Except of course, if Will chose to ignore him – but Will had already played that card, and lost spectacularly. It became clear to Will that he could never influence Hannibal not to take lives – not even to persuade him which lives to take or not to take – and he’d been naive to romantically consider the notion that he could try. 

Without another word, he turned on his heels and left the room.

There was only one thing he could think of doing in that moment, and so he went out for a drink – which turned into five, then into seven, and when the pub closed, he walked home in the cold, which had the unpleasant consequence of clearing his head – so he stopped at a store on the way and bought a bottle of whiskey. He entered the house, threw his keys on the table and opened the bottle, taking a long swig straight out of it, then staggered towards one of the guest rooms, hoping to avoid Hannibal.

It was a long shot, because Hannibal probably smelled him coming a mile off. The disapproving look on his face as he came out of the kitchen seemed so absurdly domestic to Will that he slumped in a chair, laughing. On top of everything, he was wearing an apron. Hannibal did not seem to find the situation amusing and he glared at Will, eyes narrowing to slits. Guess there were still some things Will did that Hannibal did not love. He found it reassuringly comforting in those moments. When Hannibal finally spoke, Will dissolved in fresh bouts of laughter:

“I don't want to smell that disgusting whiskey in my house ever again.”

“All that you’re missing is a spatula to hit me with”, Will said, gasping for breath amid chuckles.

“Certainly I never want to smell it on you,” Hannibal continued, unperturbed.

“Oh. That can be easily arranged”, Will said, standing up. “The bottle will leave, and I with it.”

“Sit down.”

“Don't you tell me what to do, goddamn you. I'm not your puppy. Not Jack's, but not yours either. I am leaving because I want to - I've been wanting for a long time actually, and thinking about how to tell you. Taking now the opportunity to-“

“Give me that bottle, Will.”

Hannibal wrestled the bottle out of his grip, put its lid back on and threw it swiftly into the nearest waste bin. He then turned back to Will, expectantly. Will stared at him for a few seconds, eyes dazed, then he started laughing again.

“You - you - think you can control me? Just like the good old days, eh? Just like injectin' my arm, shovin' tubes down my throat, poke and prod, and watch my reactions? Cut me, do I not bleed? Don't think I don't see it. This has all been a game to you, just on a grander scale. Everything you do is for your own amusement, you're incapable of caring for anything other than yourself, you monster.”

He didn't even know why he was doing it, the whiskey was probably to blame, he just felt the need to ruin everything with spite, like kicking at an elaborately devised tower of playing cards, just to see it topple down.

“You killed Abigail – just to spite me. You fucking monster. You told me you cared about her and I believed you. I believed –“, his voice shook and he hated himself for it, “that in your twisted way, you did care. But I was wrong. You only care about yourself and your ridiculous manufactured worldview, endlessly brooding over your feasts, weaving webs of shadow to ensnare others -  Bedelia told me you were in love with me, and those words, coming out of her mouth, almost convinced me - but she was operating on the flawed premise that you _can_ love. Oh, you may know me, better than anyone else, but love is as foreign to you as guilt, or repentance. You can’t love, you can’t even desire like a normal person: you’re dead inside. Even when we sleep together, you do it just to appease me, it's another way of controlling me, isn't it? You don't get anything out of it.”

“Is this what you really think?” Hannibal snarled.

“You went off to sleep with Bedelia first chance you got – and don’t lie, you _did_ , you _must have_ , and I can’t even blame you for it, what I don’t understand is why you’re doing this, _this_ , whatever we have, with me! You've never even - we've never even... progressed beyond making out - rubbing one off - like teenagers. You obviously don't want anything like this from me, not anything NORMAL, you don't want a real relationship, god, what a mess –“

“For an empath, you can be really dim sometimes, Will”.

Hannibal had schooled his tone and features, morphing his snarl into a dismissive, almost bored sneer, which he now presented to Will like a mask which he was free to see through, should he care to try.

Will snorted. It was true, alcohol dulled his empathic responses – it was one of the reasons why he indulged in it. He made a move towards the waste bin which currently housed his whiskey bottle.

“If you take that bottle out, I will cut off your arm”, Hannibal said evenly.

Will hesitated.

“Both of your arms, if necessary,” Hannibal added.

There was a quiet determination in his voice which Will recognized all too well, even in his drunken state - Hannibal was not bluffing. Will shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned.

“Fine, I'll be back for it later”, he slurred. “I'll go pack my stuff.”

Hannibal did not object, or follow him, as Will left the room, shuffling his feet.

As he opened his closet, and started to take things out, he realized - there were quite a lot of things to pack. They had managed to acquire quite a few clothes and trinkets during their relatively short stay. He suddenly felt bone-weary. Maybe this could wait until tomorrow. He really wanted to rest. He sank into an armchair and fell asleep immediately.

~

Will woke up late the next morning with a grueling headache. His muscles and joints were sore from the long heavy sleep spent in an uncomfortable position. On top of everything, he felt miserable and ashamed. His first thought was to continue packing and leave, like he had promised - not to punish Hannibal, but to punish himself. He had the certainty that whatever he did, things would never be right again - not that they ever had been, or could be. Strangely, he no longer blamed Hannibal for the way things were, but himself. Hannibal did not make empty promises, he was what he was – and Will had accepted that, or thought he had. Hannibal had shown a great tolerance for Will’s constant doubt. Will tried to recreate his mindset from last night, when he had said those horrible things – those horrible _truths_ -  to Hannibal, but found he couldn’t.

He sighed and tried to stand, grimacing at the many sources of pain.

He barely made it to the bathroom to relieve himself. The pressure on his head felt sickening and it turned his stomach – he vomited until there was only bile and lay on the cold tile afterwards, trying to get his breathing under control.

There was a knock on the door.

“Are you alright, Will?” he heard Hannibal’s voice.

“Please go away”, Will groaned, and with the last of his strength, he got up and pulled the lock on the bathroom door.

Hannibal tried the door and for a moment Will was afraid he was going to break it. But then he left it alone, and Will heard his footsteps receeding. Will found inside himself the absurd desire to be alright and get ahold of himself, in Hannibal’s absence, just to show that he could. With careful movements, thinking his case would be ruined if he slipped and broke his neck, he took his clothes off, took a cold shower and brushed his teeth. As a result, he felt slightly more human. He picked up his sweaty clothes and bundled them into the washing machine, then emerged from the bathroom looking around like a frightened animal, but Hannibal was nowhere around. Will sighed in relief, then went into the guest room, crawling into the spare bed. The fresh sheets were cold and soothing, and after a while, the dull headache receded enough for him to slip into unconsciousness again. 

When he woke up, it was dark outside, and he felt briefly like he did in his childhood after a long illness. He was shocked when he realized he thought of Hannibal as his disapproving parent. He dressed quietly and emerged from the guest room, eyes downcast and apprehensive, making as little noise as possible.

The dining room was lit with a soft golden hue from the elegant lamp which used to be in Hannibal’s office, and quiet - save for the familiar notes of classical music playing softly in the background. Hannibal was sitting at a table, sketching, a play of light and shadow on his face making him look statuesque. Will stood for a long time in the doorway, watching him, until his outline blurred and the fixity of his own stare brought tears to his eyes. He was about to leave, when Hannibal suddenly said, without turning:

“I was about to make some tea. Would you like some, Will?”

“Mmm, no, it's al-“, Will started to say, on as nonchalant a tone as he could make it.

“Please, come in and sit down, Will”, Hannibal cut in, decisively. “The tea will be ready soon.”

Will gulped back his tears and wiped his eyes hastily, as Hannibal stood up, and he moved aside from the doorway to let him pass through, with an awkward smile. Hannibal stopped in front of him and cradled his face in his hands, studying him closely. Will avoided his eyes, staring resolutely behind Hannibal. He entirely missed whatever cues there might have been for the sudden soft press of Hannibal’s lips over his. Long fingers wrapped themselves into his tangled curls with gentle familiarity, brushing them away from his face, and then, just as suddenly, Hannibal stepped back and went on his way. Tears drying instantly from the pleasant shock of it, Will remained gaping long after Hannibal had left to make the tea. That was pretty much the last thing he expected from Hannibal in the aftermath of their fight, but he wasn’t about to complain. He felt pleasantly weary, and his thoughts were drifting, without focus and the usual anxiety. He went into the dining room and sat down, letting the music wash over him.

Hannibal returned in a while, with two cups of tea.

He offered him a cup, then sat down in his chair with his own, smiling at Will in his particular way, like he was letting Will and only Will in on a little secret, which was only theirs to know. Will took a sip of his tea, pleasantly hot and vanilla-flavoured, and wondered, not for the first time, at the thread of attraction tightly woven with fascinated revolution that bound him to Hannibal.

They sat together in silence and drank their tea. Lito pit-patted into the room, went over to Will and sniffed him uncertainly, as if wondering about his mood. Will scratched him enthusiastically behind the ears and Lito relaxed, with a happy whine, and sat down, dropping his bum heavily on Will’s feet, his tail beating the ground rhythmically.

“Good boy”, Will told him, smiling affectionately down at him. “Don’t be mad at me”, he added, but his eyes slid over to Hannibal as he said it.

“We’re neither of us mad at you”, Hannibal confirmed, picking up on the unstated apology. “Of course, the same thing cannot be said about you. You are mad at me for a variety of reasons, which battle for precedence in your mind in all manner of interesting ways.”

Will squirmed. He didn’t want to disturb their fragile peace.

“Please, let’s not discuss this now.”

“What shall we discuss, then?”

“Nothing. A quiet evening without mind games, can we please have this? I just want to sit and watch you draw, or play the piano, or whatever.”

“Of course”, Hannibal allowed smoothly. “I have never denied you anything that you asked me for.”

He remembered Hannibal’s voice saying a similar thing to him, in an almost forgotten dream, had in the dark solitude of his house in Wolf Trap, with only whiskey for company, and drew in a sharp breath. ‘ _Always, Will, I let you have your way.’_ That was profoundly untrue. Will reflected on a significant instance when his desperate pleas were disregarded: when he begged for Abigail’s life. He knew that Hannibal did not even classify that situation as ‘Will asking for something’ – it was ‘Will being punished as he deserved’, and maybe even ‘Hannibal punishing himself for his foolish hope.’ It was Hannibal’s own version of kicking at their fragile and exquisite tower of playing cards.

Hannibal finished his tea, then turned again to his drawing. Lito stood up and sighed, then turned around, nudging Will’s leg with his nose as he sat back down, settling more comfortably on the carpet. The quiet noises of pencil on paper mingling with the music made Will’s mouth curve upwards as his mind settled on a different memory.

“Remember that day, at the Uffizi Gallery?” he said, ignoring his own wish for sitting in silence.

“I believe I told you at the time that I was never likely to forget it,” Hannibal answered, not looking up from his drawing.

“I could hear the sound of your pencil on paper – and I could hear – music – a piece which resembled the notes of the Goldberg Variations Aria – but slowed, terribly so, giving it an infinitely heartbreaking quality, although I could also detect a note of hope.… I could hear it in my mind as I approached you and sat down next to you. I wish I could play it to you, because it was so beautiful, but I don’t think I would be able to.”

“I know it”, Hannibal said, still not looking up, but the pencil had stilled its movements on the paper. “It is the same music which echoed down the corridors of own mind as I sat in front of the Primavera in the Uffizi Gallery. It is, as you perceived, a slowed arrangement of Bach’s masterpiece which I came up with.” Hannibal’s lip twitched, and he shook his head minutely. “That you could somehow hear it - the notion should deeply unsettle me.”

“Does it?” Will whispered.

“You have always been difficult to predict – as was our relationship. You have stormed my memory palace and made yourself at home in it. I can do nothing but welcome you.”

“You can’t control everything”, Will said, appeasingly.

“No. But I will always want to.”

Will nodded, his gaze turned inward, lost in the memory.

“I remember very vividly, as I sat next to you, and looked at you, took you in, with the satisfaction that I finally found you - that I wanted to touch you so much – I was _aching_ with it.”

“You came there prepared to kill me,” Hannibal reminded him.

“Yes. But that is precisely why, the need to touch you, hold you, _kiss you_ even, was so strong. It even crossed my mind that it didn’t have to end this way. Maybe there still could be a best possible world for us. The look on your face almost confirmed it– as you sat there smiling at me, I thought briefly you were going to kiss me”, Will confessed. “I was waiting for it. But then you abruptly looked away and it was like someone doused me with ice water. I was half disappointed, half relieved. I berated myself for ever imagining it… that you could have - human feelings. Everything is sublimated, elevated, you will not be bothered by something as petty as that…”

“Will”, Hannibal warned. “You are veering into the argumentative.”

“If you had only kissed me then”, Will pressed on, “things could have been so different. I would probably have forgotten I had a knife on me.”

“Mason's men would have caught up with us, regardless”, Hannibal pointed out, reasonably. He paused momentarily, hands smoothing the paper and looking down. “As for the other matter – a matter which I note is heavily on your mind, judging also by your outburst yesterday –“

“Look, I am sorry I brought it up”, Will said quickly. “You don’t have to – you don’t have to say anything. I am sorry for the things I’ve said the other night. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“You can’t be the one to open a can of worms and then expect me to just close it back”, Hannibal argued, his voice rising in annoyance.

“Wait – did you hear that?” Will said, standing up and looking towards the dark hallway.

“Don’t try to distract me”, Hannibal said, but he frowned, and half-turned, pricking his ears.

“I could swear I heard something, a shuffling”, Will whispered.

Hannibal’s fingers strayed towards his scalpel.

This time there was a definite noise coming from the darkness of the hallway. Will jumped, and so did Lito, who started to bark, and made towards the door.

“Stay, Lito”, Will shouted at him and grabbed him by the back of his neck. “Sit”, he commanded, and Lito did, still growling.

Will advanced slowly towards the door, keeping his eyes fixed on the darkness, which shifted suddenly, and three shapes became visible: Three men, wearing masks, all dressed in black, carrying machine guns. Will’s first thought was that the police, or the FBI, had caught up with them. He felt numb. He offered no resistance as he was handcuffed, a hood placed over his head, and then dragged outside. He felt the cold bitterly, as he was led towards a car and deposited like a sack of potatoes in the trunk. He landed on his bound hands and grunted. He strained to listen for any movement outside. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard Hannibal’s voice:

“Gentlemen, I don’t doubt you have a job to do, and you do it admirably, but surely, I will be as unable to escape from the backseat of your car as from the trunk –“

Hannibal didn’t get to finish before the trunk door opened and Hannibal was thrown half on top of Will, with a thud. Will groaned, half at the weight of Hannibal on him, half at the predicament they found themselves in.

“That was very rude of them”, Hannibal observed.

“At least we can be fairly certain it isn’t the police,” Will offered. “It could be the family or friends of whoever I saw you carve up – _or_ it could be anyone who holds a grudge against you, which still doesn’t narrow our list very much,” he ended sarcastically.

Hannibal did not take the bait, and lapsed into silence. Will wondered if he was reviewing possible candidates in his mind.

The car jostled them about, and Hannibal’s elbow dug into Will’s belly. He made a noise of pain.

 

 “Apologies”, Hannibal said, and tried to shift in the enclosed space, without much success.

“Not your fault,” Will murmured.

Hannibal sighed, his breath warming Will’s chest, who shivered.

“Will”, Hannibal said. “Regarding what I was attempting to say earlier…”

Will frowned.

“Earlier when?” Then it dawned on him, and he made a noise of angry disbelief. “God, your timing is impeccable. Could we maybe postpone this conversation? For some time when we’re not bound in the trunk of a car, heading for what is more than likely to be the place of our execution?”

“That is precisely why I want to get that conversation out of the way. It may be our last chance.”

Will laughed silently.

“If we are to die, I don’t want my last moments to be socially awkward.’”

“Will-“

“ _No_. I won’t discuss this now. Let’s just focus on our survival. Can you escape your cuffs?”

“No. My position is exceedingly uncomfortable.”

“So is mine.”

“Then we will wait, for an opportunity to present itself.”

There was a tilt to Hannibal’s voice; despite his admission of the seriousness of their situation, he did not appear worried. Will sensed that Hannibal was obliquely enjoying this refreshing diversion from the banality of existence, and was very curious to see how events would turn out. Although comforted by Hannibal’s confidence, a part of him visited several unpleasant possible scenarios with mounting anxiety.

“You seem sure that an opportunity will present itself. What if it doesn’t?”

“Fortune favours the bold. And those who help themselves. And it’s the prospect of death which-“

“Drives us to greatness, yeah. You’ve told me that before.”

“I did. I told you that after you achieved your victory over Randall Tier. I was so proud of you.”

The glowing pride and affection in Hannibal’s tone was so apparent that it made Will’s chest swell with emotion, despite himself.

“Today it seems we found ourselves slightly lower on the food chain”, Hannibal said lightly, “but positions may be reversed at any time, remember. This is a problem, one we will solve together.”

Will nodded reflexively under his hood.

“Alright”, he agreed, quietly.

“If I do die tonight”, Hannibal said after a moment, “I will do so as contently as I would have done on that fateful night when you plunged us in the waters of the Atlantic – but only if all else fails, or if it means saving you.”

“Please, don’t do anything stupid, Hannibal”, Will said harshly, breath catching in his throat.

“Is it because you wish to end me on your own terms?” Hannibal chose to remind him cruelly, of his earlier words.

“Yes”, Will panted. “If anyone gets to end you, it will be me. No one else,” he finished on a snarl.

Hannibal made a small noise, half amused, half appreciative.

“Will, your mind works –“

He never got to finish his sentence, because the trunk was abruptly opened and they were hauled out and guided none too gently, with several abrupt left and right turns, then up a flight of stairs, until finally a door was opened, and they were thrown to a cement floor. Their hoods were removed.

A vision from hell stood before them.

Frederick Chilton’s face looked like a mask which did not quite fit his features. The eyes, peering out of what looked like a wrinkled flesh suit, looked unnaturally slanted and crooked, like black pebbles thrown on the white canvas of his face. His lips were missing. The skin on his neck was unnaturally taut. The rest of his body was covered and he wore black gloves on his hands, so Will was left to imagine how the rest of him looked like. Frederick moved slowly and painfully, with the three masked men flanking him, machine guns pointed at Hannibal and Will.

 

“Hello, Frederick”, Hannibal said pleasantly. “I nearly did not recognize you.”

Frederick Chilton’s lipless mouth opened and the words came out on a rasp:

“For most people, I am an apparition from hell. I suppose for you two I’m proof of a job well done? Or maybe not _altogether_ well done, since I did survive. Never send a boy to do a man’s work, isn’t that what they say? I sent one when I could not move myself and he never came back.”

He studied Will, and then Hannibal, for a reaction. When he got none, he lifted his shoulders minutely, in as much of a shrug as he could manage.

“Oh well, I’m sure you killed him – somehow. So this time, I sent three boys. It’s better this way, because now I can be here myself. I never wanted to be the man in the shadows, oh no, I would much rather have the pleasure of experiencing your torture and death firsthand.”

He paused, but failed to get a reaction again. He approached Hannibal and moved his face uncomfortably close to his.

“I was dead”, he growled deep in his throat. “A ghost. I had nothing but pain and then nothingness to look forward to. But the desire for revenge kept me going - long, long after I was supposed to be dead. It sharpened my senses, dulled my fears, _curbed my morality._ The doctors did not place much hope in me, but I surprised them all.”

“Your capacity for survival is indeed remarkable, Frederick”, Hannibal praised.

“Like a worm’s”, Will chimed in. “Doesn’t matter which part you cut, it just keeps on going.” He drawled the last part mockingly.

Frederick straightened and his hollow eyes flashed.

“Yes, you know, another thing about worms is that they’re cold-blooded. And I don’t mean that metaphorically, not anymore. I haven’t felt the warmth of my blood in a long time. In fact – I have not felt warm ever since I was burned. Like I am indeed, already dead.”

“How did you find us?” Will asked.

Frederick turned to look at him:

“The first time, or the second time? I followed Jack Crawford to Italy. It seemed a safe bet that if anyone could find you, it would be him. I was ready to step in before he arrested you, but fortunately he never entertained such thoughts. Indeed, it all turned out much better than I could have hoped. Jack removed himself – or well, someone did, thus sparing me the expense of having him killed. And then I only had to watch, and wait, and prepare. And so I was able to catch you. And haunt you – in person.”

He bowed, self-consciously.

Hannibal inclined his head, considering him.

“I told you once that Fate has a habit of not letting us choose our own endings, Frederick”, Hannibal finally said. “Did you think about what I said to you in the aftermath of your experience with Francis?”

“Oh, I have thought about a lot of things. You see, I had all the time in the world to think – as I lay in bed, waiting for my shriveled flesh to regain some sort of feeling in it - I had almost given up – but my body did not. It is amazing, isn’t it? The persistence of life.”

“It’s what makes us feel most alive”, Hannibal answered.

“Yes. You always know exactly what to say. Always the right thing. You’re perverse like this.”

“A fitting gift for a psychiatrist. One you never quite mastered yourself, Frederick, if you’ll pardon me for pointing that out.”

Frederick’s eyes slanted further in his pale, rumpled face.

“You’re pardoned, Hannibal. I can be magnanimous and pardon the sorry ruin of a man you’ll be when I’m done with you.”

“Your life will not return to you just because you destroy mine. Our ancestors believed in sympathetic magic, but only because they did not know any better. Don’t you know any better, Frederick?”

“Stop using your ‘lecturing’ voice on me, I’m not one of your crazy patients. Here’s how this is going to go. I’m sure you’re familiar with the waterboarding torture method. It’s been in the news a lot. I’m going to cover your face with a cloth, then gag you – but loosely, because I don’t want to silence you, quite the opposite in fact - and pour water over your face. Your body will think it’s drowning. It will _feel_ like drowning. To you it might be a familiar feeling, one you already experienced during your Atlantic dive, so just for you, I’ve come up with a variation. The water will be boiling hot. It will feel like drowning in the waters of Styx, on your way to the ninth circle of hell, where you belong.”

He addressed one of the three men:

“Get the water ready.”

He walked in front of Hannibal and looked into his face, as he spoke, with relish:

“And now here’s the interesting bit. Not that the rest of it isn’t interesting, but this is a rather entertaining bonus: I’m going to give you the opportunity to stop things. When you feel you can’t take it anymore, all you have to do is say three little words: _Please stop Frederick._ These words will be the cue for the torture to stop on you and start on Will. You’ll be allowed to breathe, and wait for the torture to start again – which will happen as soon as Will says those three little words himself.”

Hannibal studied him.

“I can’t speak for Will, but surely you must suspect that I’ll barely allow a second of it before I say the words. In fact, I’ll start saying them right away, just to be certain I’m not enduring a second longer than I have to. I’m disappointed, Frederick – I’d have thought you’d put more consideration into this.”

“He’s clearly new”, Will nodded to Hannibal. “And actually, his heart isn’t really in it. He’s just going through the motions.”

“Oh, am I?” Frederick’s voice rose on a squeal. “I have spent countless nights biting my pillow in rage and pain, comforted only by thoughts of you dying in agony! You condemned me, on a whim, Will! You ensured my destruction with a simple gesture – a hand placed on my shoulder at the opportune moment. How can you think my heart wouldn’t be in it, to make the both of you suffer. You may scream at me to stop immediately, but that doesn’t mean I’ll choose to hear you. I should have known you harbour so much deep hatred for each other, that you wouldn’t hesitate to let the other suffer. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it. You disgust me, I find I’m sickened by your very presence. But if you think that this will shorten our game, and I’ll let you die faster, you are wrong”, he finished, spitting the words with disdain.

Will nodded and answered calmly, looking him in the eye:

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the man you sent after me in Baltimore. The man who hurt you is Francis Dolarhyde and he is solely responsible for what happened to you. That man is now dead. Hannibal and I killed him. I am sorry, Frederick, about what was done to you. But I do not hold myself responsible for it. You can douse Hannibal and me with boiling water until we have steam coming out of our ears, and I’ll still tell you the same: I do not feel guilty or responsible about what happened to you. And as long as I don’t accept responsibility, you’ll be torturing an innocent man.”

“You put your hand on –“

“On your shoulder, yes yes. In the goddamn picture. _So what_? Listen to yourself, how ridiculous this sounds. Let’s ask someone who’s not crazy what they think about this, hm?”

He turned to look at one of the two men who stood aside, motionless like statues.

“Please, take off your mask. I want to speak to you. Not as an instrument, or as a faceless inflicter of pain. I can see your eyes through the mask – you’re a young man, and you’re nervous. Your hands are sweaty and you fidget with your machine gun. If we try something, you will not hesitate to shoot, but torture is not what you signed up for. And neither did you”, Will turned to include the other man into the conversation. “Theft, score-settling among rival gangs, kidnap for ransom – that’s your usual playing field, isn’t it? You think murder is good business, but you take no pleasure in it, or in inflicting pain. Our conversation makes you uneasy. You think we’re all crazy – and you’re right to think it. If this man has his way – in a few minutes, you will both be leaving your comfort zone and heading into battlefield. In a few minutes, I won’t be human anymore. I will be a writhing, desperate mass of screams and shriveled flesh, and you will be frightened and wonder at the fragility of life. It’s not only being abused that changes people – it’s being the agents of abuse, as well. You won’t be the same. You’ll carry my screams with you forever in your mind, and wonder if it was worth it.  You’ll wish you could go back.”

The men Will addressed did not take off their masks but their unnatural stillness betrayed the attention with which they listened to his words.

The masked man who was directed to bring the water, approached, and set a large steaming pot on the floor heavily, then moved back. 

Will took a shuddering breath, and continued:

“And the strangest thing is – this man right here, who orchestrated this” – he looked at Frederick with sadness, “he’ll be plagued by nightmares and tormented by what he has done as well. Because despite all this, he’s still not a killer. He’s acting up, dressed in a suit of boldness like in a second skin which doesn’t fit him well, an artificial wrap to fool the world and himself when he looks in the mirror, but deep inside, he’s still a frightened man. Frightened by violence, by brutality, shocked to the core by everything he’s experienced, but still unable to inflict it on others.”

“Oh, do you think so?” Frederick challenged, although his voice was shaking slightly.

“Frederick –“, Will whispered, almost intimately. “I have great sympathy for you. I do. I remember when you said those exact words to me when I was lying in hospital, after I was stabbed. You were right, we have both of us suffered – you more than me. But it’s not vengeance and torture which will redeem us. It’s justice.”

“What better justice than to see you and Hannibal dead?”

“See the both of us punished”, Will answered, “by the very system we have been trying to escape.”

“…Turn you in?” Frederick asked, disbelieving.

“Do the right thing, like Jack couldn’t. Just think, Frederick – you could be the one who catches Hannibal Lecter when everyone else had given up – no one will doubt your insight into him ever again, no one would ever doubt your insight at all. You would be greatly respected, not only to have survived what happened to you – but to show the world that your experience did not break you, but molded you, like cutting at a rock reveals a hidden diamond.”

Frederick’s sunken eyes twinkled with the shadow of an uneasy smile, one which Will found familiar.

“It is an interesting prospect”, he mused.

“Look here, sir”, one of the masked men said, with a noticeable Italian accent. “If you involve the police, then our deal is off.”

“I’m walking away from this, no matter if the police gets involve or no”, another spoke up with an even heavier accent.

“You can’t! We had a deal!” Frederick blurted, with something resembling panic.

“Yes, we can”, the first one said again. “We got half the deal done, and you paid us half the money in advance. We’re fair and square.”

“We tell no one nothing”, the second one hurried to add.

“But – I still need you!” Frederick complained, with a touch of his old petulance.

“Here we all are then, trapped like bugs, in the amber of this moment,” Hannibal observed.

The third masked man, who had brought the water, spoke for the first time:

“The water is getting cold”, he said, quietly.

He did not sound Italian, and his voice seemed familiar. Will frowned.

Frederick glanced briefly at the man who spoke, then nodded slowly. He appeared to have reached a decision.

“Alright then, you two go. Our business is finished. I hope what I have paid you also covers for your discretion, as I cannot stress enough how paramount that is, in light of your continued _safety_.”

‘That’s two machine guns down’, Will reflected, as the two men left in silence. He turned his attention to the other man, trying to guess from his stance and the memory of his voice who he might be.

It seemed Hannibal was thinking along the same lines, because he suddenly addressed Frederick:

“I am glad that you have chosen someone who is familiar with this method of torture, Frederick, to assist you. Accidents have been known to happen in such cases, in the hands of the unskillful, and I know you would hate it if I met my end too soon. It would deprive you of whatever joy you get from this. It might make you wish you did indeed, turn me in.”

“But like you said, that won’t be the case, because I’ve chosen someone skillful”, Frederick replied, enigmatically.

“It would be quite a pleasure, Doctor Lecter”, the masked man said. “Our one and only meeting, of a similar kind, was interrupted. I am naturally eager to pick up from where we left off.”

Hannibal smiled.

“Four’s a crowd, in this kind of situation.”

“Oh, but we’re all among friends, here”, the masked man drawled, and Will’s brain finally put two and two together with a stab of recognition: Matthew Brown.

“I would however, hate to take centre stage over my new friend here, who sprung me out of prison, and whose plight I am here to help.”

“You’re very quick to help those in need, aren’t you, Matthew?” Hannibal teased. “This seems to be a primary concern for you. Must have something to do with your training as a nurse. Why not help yourself from time to time?”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Doctor Lecter?”

“I told you Will was not who you thought he was. Now I tell you Frederick Chilton definitely is not. When you do kill us, you’ll be as alone as when you started.”

Matthew laughed.

“Is that what you think, Doctor Lecter?”

“Alright, enough chit-chat”, Frederick said sharply. “I’m trying to think.”

“Don’t take too long”, Matthew said, darkly. “Water’s getting colder by the second.”

“Shut up about the damn water. I’m beginning to think that this grand act of torture-murder is exactly the kind of fitting end this crazy motherfucker might be looking forward to, as a crowning achievement to his life. No, no – Will had the right idea – better for him to linger in a prison, forgotten and humiliated. Do you remember our conversation that day, Hannibal? Oh by the glimmer in your eyes, I see that you do.”

“What are you doing, Frederick?” Matthew asked carefully.

“Change of plans. We’ll turn them both in.”

“You can’t do this.”

“I think you’ll find I can”, Frederick replied irritated.

“I think _you’ll_ find that you can’t take the both of them out of here without my help. And I’m the one with the machine gun, you worthless bag of bones in a second-hand skin. And whoever has the machine gun, makes the rules.”

“You would have never been involved in this in the first place if it wasn’t for me!” Frederick hissed.

“Fair enough, but now I am”, Matthew’s eyes flickered over to Will.

Will blinked at him.

And just like that, Matthew brought up his machine gun to Frederick’s chest, and fired. The body was thrown to the wall with the violence of the blast, it fell to the floor and did not move again. Will stared in shock. Frederick Chilton was dead. His tormented energy, his painful hatred, had been abruptly silenced.

“Well, this is an interesting turn of events”, he heard Hannibal say. He sounded genuinely appreciative.

Will struggled to keep himself from hyperventilating. He knew any weakness he might show at this point would be his undoing.

“What do you want, Matthew?” he asked, quietly.

“Funny you should ask me this, Will. I want to do you the favour for which you asked, all those years ago. I remember – and I never let a friend down.”

“Alright, then.” Will made a vague movement towards his handcuffed hands, trying to appear blasé, “Let me out of these, I’ll do it myself.”

Matthew appraised him, calculatingly.

“Don’t hold it against me if I don’t do that right away. Much time has passed since we last saw each other – time I’ve been told you spent in Doctor Lecter’s pockets, more or less. I’m sure you’re – conflicted, and I don’t blame you for it. Let me take care of this for you, my friend.”

“Alright”, Will conceded, “but if we do this, let’s do it properly.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s get out of here”, he said, with one look at Frederick’s body. “This apartment may be in a disreputable area but some tenants may yet flinch at the sound of a machine gun. It isn’t safe to linger – unless you do want to follow Frederick’s advice and let the police have us.”

“Good point”, Matthew granted. “Where do you advise we go?”

“I know just the place”, Will said, in a determined voice.

Hannibal turned to watch him, eyes gleaming with amusement. Will stared him down, grimly.

Matthew grinned and deposited his machine gun next to Frederick’s body. Then he took a standard revolver out of his pocket.

“Shall we?” he gestured.

~

The place Will had in mind was of course, the basement of their house, ready made for murder and body disposal. The remains which Will saw two days ago were gone, but the smell of blood still lingered.

Matthew surveyed the place appreciatively. He inspected the meat saw up close and tested it for sharpness. He turned his back on his captives with little concern, seemingly unbothered by the possibility that Hannibal and Will could team up on him and bring him down, even if he did have a gun in his hand. Neither Hannibal nor Will took advantage of the small window of opportunity.

Finally, he whistled in appreciation at the various facilities of the murder basement and returned to face Hannibal and Will.

“You were right”, he said. “This is a good place.”

The hand holding the gun rested on Will’s shoulder, and the other palmed his curls affectionately.

“I missed you, Will.”

“I would have thought you’d hate me”, Will answered, trying his best not to flinch from the touch. “You went to prison because of me.”

“Wasn’t your fault. I was careless. But I’ll do better. You can teach me to do better. I am in awe of you. The way you played Frederick and those boys – magnificent.”

“I told you Will isn’t like you think”, Hannibal cut in, sharply. “You’re deluding yourself.”

“Deluding myself, oh, you mean – like you did?” Matthew prodded, shrewdly.

“No. I always knew Will better than you. And he knows me better than anyone.”

“Is this a twisted ‘don’t try to come between us’ kind of thing?”

“Not at all. In fact, I support Will’s decision, whichever it is. I’m curious myself. The question is, will you allow him to make one?”

Matthew snorted, reached into his pocket and took out the cuff keys with a flourish. He did not move behind him to undo them, instead reached a single hand around Will, fumbling for the clasp, while keeping his eyes on Will’s face:

“Don’t forget he was going to let you be tortured, gladly: I’ll barely allow a second of it before I say the words, that’s what he said, remember.”

“Surely you must see, Will”, Hannibal intervened, “that if I was really going to do that, I would have hardly pointed it out to Frederick first, as a flaw in his plan. As things were, it should be obvious my intention was to humiliate him.”

Will stood silent as Matthew took his time undoing the handcuffs, head cocked to one side and smiling at him.

“If you’re going to kill me, Will, don’t let it be for this,” Hannibal added.

“It wouldn’t be for this”, Will answered slowly.

Matthew handed Will his gun, barely suppressing a smile.

Will took it and tested its weight in his hand. For a few long seconds, no one spoke.

Then Hannibal broke the silence:

“You see, Matthew, you really don’t know Will. I find it difficult to anticipate myself what he will do – but the fact remains, that here, in this moment, we’re still bugs caught in amber. Because we depend on Will for our resolution and he will not give us one. And so we arrive to the core of the problem, which, incidentally, is also why you’ll never find Will a suitable companion for you. He has never killed in cold blood. Regardless of moral issues, he harbours a deep hate for me, as he does for himself, and dare I say for you merely on principle, yet he will never pull that trigger to end our lives. It’s like he told those boys back there, he worries that will _haunt_ him. That speech was quite incomprehensible to you, wasn’t it? You appreciated it on an intellectual level, and delighted in the effect it had on those two, but ultimately, you did not understand it any more than I did.” Hannibal smiled at Matthew, who frowned.

Will did not look up from where he was staring at the gun in his hands.

“So what are you saying?” Matthew prompted.

“Will has never killed unless it was to save a life – his own, or someone else’s. Will knows he is not threatened by either of us – neither you, nor I will hurt him. He’s safe. So we’re stuck.”

“Unless...”, Matthew picked up, and looked at Hannibal uncertainly.

Hannibal smiled and nodded benevolently at him, like a teacher at one of his favourite pupils.

“…Unless one of our lives is threatened,” Matthew completed.

“Or both”, Hannibal suggested.

“Stop it”, Will said.

Both turned to look at him in surprise.

“I have a question for both of you, which may well decide who lives and who dies. The question is simple: What is your biggest regret?”

“I don’t indulge in regret”, Hannibal answered immediately. I told you before, Will – if I choose to do or not do something, it is usually for a good reason. That being said, I deeply regret not honouring Abigail.”

Will’s eyes widened as Hannibal’s meaning sank in. He blinked rapidly, then turned to Matthew.

“I’ve no regrets”, he shook his head, amused. “Just things I sometimes think I could’ve done better. But I don’t beat myself over the head about it. I just think – when the next chance comes along, I’ll do better. For instance, right now I regret not finishing the job you asked of me – of killing Hannibal Lecter. But I don’t worry myself much about it, cause you will.”

Will nodded slowly to himself.

“I regret many things. But most of all, I regret all the times when choices have been taken from me. So I thank you both for this opportunity – and I hope – I’m sure, actually, that this would make up for all those other times.”

He then pointed the gun at his own head. 

Hannibal frowned at Will’s formal tone and solemn words. His frown deepened into one of distress and alarm as their meaning dawned on him, and struggled desperately against his handcuffs.

“Take his gun!” he yelled at Matthew, before Will had even finished speaking.

Matthew tackled Will immediately and the gun went off, bullet ricocheting into a wall, but Will still held on to it and would not surrender it without a fight.

Hannibal now put serious effort into escaping his handcuffs. He sped up towards the electric saw in the corner and turned it on, spreading his bound hands beneath it as far apart as he could. He clenched his jaw in impatience, as the saw worked swiftly to cut through the chain binding his wrists together, and yanked suddenly, when he couldn’t wait any longer. His arms were free, although the cuffs remained on his wrists, like metal bracelets.

Will and Matthew were still struggling for the gun. Hannibal took his scalpel out of his pocket and slit Matthew’s throat in a single smooth motion, and within the same heartbeat, twisted Will’s wrist backwards until he dropped the gun.

“Is Death still calling to you, then?” he asked Will, panting hard with exertion, as he unloaded the gun, placing the rounds in his pocket, along with the scalpel.

Will nodded with a smile which was out-of-place and infinitely sad.

“It has never stopped.”

“Dear love”, Hannibal said, as he sank to the floor exhausted. “You always find ways to hurt me.”

Will sat down next to him, looking at Matthew’s body bleeding on the floor of the basement.

“A few minutes ago”, Hannibal spoke, “I would have congratulated you on your excellent grasp of the situation. You had exceeded my wildest expectations.”

“And now you’re disappointed?”

“Somewhat. Mostly I fail to see why you would go through the motions of ensuring our safety if your intention all along was self-destruction.”

“That wasn’t my intention in the beginning, but it evolved. At first, all I could think of was how we could escape our predicament. Frederick was right, the persistence of life is remarkable.”

“What changed?”

“I arrived at the same realization as I had on the cliff that day. That there truly are no happy endings. As a general rule, there don’t seem to be any, but it’s particularly true for us.”

“But you could have killed me, and made your own happy ending.”

“I could have”, Will laughed hollow, “If I weren’t _absurdly_ , quite _unreasonably,_ in love with you.”

“Yes…”, Hannibal said, quietly. “That is a disadvantage.”

He brought up his hand to caress Will’s face tentatively, his movements slow and guarded against rejection. Will leaned into his touch.

“You colour my life in bright hues simply by existing, in the same space as I. But I have long ceased to have power over you.”

“Is it so difficult for you to simply ask me to stay?” Will asked. His gaze dropped to Hannibal’s lips and then back to his eyes, self-consciously.

Hannibal understood the unspoken wish and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was hard and desperate, fringed with the lingering danger of having almost lost each other.   

“I have to take care of Matthew”, Hannibal said, as he regretfully pulled away.

“You’re going to honour him?” Will asked, remembering Hannibal’s earlier words.

“Yes”, Hannibal answered seriously.

Will gave a minute shrug.

“Do you mind if I sit here and watch you?”

“Not at all”, Hannibal replied, surprised but pleased. “I will cook a lavish dinner tonight for us, and Lito will benefit as well. We deserve it – we have returned victorious against almost insurmountable odds.”

Will rolled his eyes with amused affection.

“And afterwards, Will – we’re going to have _that_ discussion.”

Will’s lingering smile slowly faded.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently in this story Will and Hannibal can't even have sex without lengthy conversations. :p

“I wouldn't have”, Hannibal said, running slow fingers through Will's hair. “I wouldn’t have done what I said.”

He was referring to his previous words to Frederick Chilton, which Matthew had thrown back at him in his misguided attempt to turn Will against Hannibal.

“I know”, Will murmured.

Dinner was finished and they were drinking at leisure from their glasses of wine. The memory of the last time he got tragically wasted was still fresh in Will’s mind, so he drank little, without much pleasure. It was a pity because Hannibal’s favoured wine wasn’t anything like the cheap whiskey he had bought on that night – which to his knowledge still lay in the waste bin where Hannibal had thrown it – Will wasn’t about to check on it anytime soon. Hannibal’s wine was like the man himself, exquisite and very palatable, select and well-measured; Will was a whirlwind of chaotic reactions, absorbing and reflecting indiscriminately, running himself ragged. Where Hannibal would take a small sip, sampling the bouquet, Will would take a gulp, like swallowing ocean saltwater.

Irrespective of any consideration of morality, a part of Will always saw himself as inadequate compared to Hannibal, and instinctively looked to the older man for guidance. Trust seemed implicit in moments such as these. Will leaned into the hand playing through his hair, pressing his cheek, and then his lips, against Hannibal’s wrist.

“The genius of the method of torture that Frederick wished to bestow upon us”, Hannibal continued, his voice becoming quietly intimate, “is that it feels like dying, but one does not in fact, die - although I grant that accidents do happen, especially in the hands of the unskilled. It would have taken me all my control to subdue my panic and my body's natural fear of experiencing the subjective feeling of drowning - but I believe I could have done it, without saying the words Frederick wanted to have the satisfaction to hear me say.”

“Eventually, he would have given me my turn, regardless. And I don't know how much I could have resisted. Anyway – Hannibal, you’re stalling. You threatened me with _that discussion_ , and now you seem content to discuss other matters.”

Hannibal’s fingers paused in Will’s hair. Then he removed his hand entirely and he straightened.

Will steeled himself for the worst.

“There is something you should understand about me”, Hannibal said, on a calm tone, after taking another small sip of wine. “It is strange how you can know me so well in many other respects, yet there are parts of me which are clouded in shadow for you.”

“Maybe because - you wish them to be? You hide them better than others.”

“Or perhaps”, Hannibal countered, “your own fears and desires cloud your otherwise excellent perception of mine.”

“Perhaps”, Will conceded. “What is it about you that is so shadowy to me?”

“To address your previous accusations chronologically - The fact that I did indeed care for Abigail, for one. I did not lie to you when I said I probably loved her even more than you did. I will not belabour the manner in which she reminded me of my sister… bright and intelligent, but ultimately, a victim -” Hannibal’s accent thickened with emotion and he paused abruptly, his upper lip twitching in self-reprimand at his weakness. “She was someone I wanted to guide, and protect”, he finished, firmly.

“Hannibal”, Will said slowly, eyes wide with shock and sympathetic pain. “I’m so sorry for saying those horrible-“

Hannibal waved a hand as if to say it was of no importance, and continued stubbornly, as if in penance:

“By killing Abigail, I wanted to kill that part of me which made me vulnerable and susceptible to weakness. Killing her, I wanted to save myself – or better yet, to prove to myself I can still be saved: ‘ _See, this does not bind me. I care not. It is easy to step away_.’  But – do you remember how it rained that day? I felt the rain beating on my skin like the lashes of the self-flagellant.”

“But you also wanted to punish me”, Will said. His hand unconsciously moved to the scar on his stomach. The memory of the tangled web of feelings it left in its wake was numbing – shock, pain, unbearable sadness.

“Yes. You hurt me, Will. I wanted to hurt you in return. I wanted to show you what could have been and then take it all away, in the same heartbeat, and leave you with the knowledge that the whole tragedy was your doing.”

“And like anything you have ever done, Hannibal”, Will murmured, as he relived those moments in his mind, “it was - perfectly orchestrated.”

“Perhaps not so perfectly. Or otherwise you would not have drawn the conclusion you had – that I did not care for you and Abigail – when the truth was that I cared too much.”

“And you wanted to wash off the taint of your debilitating emotions with blood and cleansing rain”, Will reflected.

“Yes”, Hannibal replied, smiling slightly at the picture Will’s words painted. “Only I could not. For once, I found the elements were against me.”

“Then, when you cut into my skull –“

“It was the last desperate attempt of a prisoner to break through to freedom. I told you at the time, did I not? ‘You freeing yourself from me, and me freeing myself from you, they’re the same.’ We each had designs on each other – and each were violent.”

“Violence is what we both understood”, Will echoed Chyioh’s old words. “So what changed?”

“At one point it occurred to me that I had stopped being free a long time ago, but I was too caught up in our game to notice. Maybe when you brought me the body of Randall Tier, maybe when I first saw you baptized in blood in the kitchen of Garret Jacob Hobbs, maybe as far back as when we sat together in Jack’s office and I glimpsed through the forts in your mind at the treasures they were guarding inside… the precise moment might forever escape me – but it hardly matters when, what matters is that I became – vulnerable. To you. And that left me at a disadvantage. More than, it was a game changer: the life I knew was over. It should have angered me, but with that revelation came peace, and acceptance. And I laid my freedom at your feet. I played it all on that one card, and almost lost – but in the end, I won: you did come to me. So you see, Will – to answer another of your accusations: I most definitely can love.”

“Hannibal”, Will replied, choosing his words carefully. “About the things I said that night…. they were words spoken in anger and frustration and I am sorry I lashed out like that – I’m quite ashamed. But I still think that for you, love has more the quality of the abstract than the prosaic.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean. If you refer to the mechanism of desire, I assure you, mine is as boundless and varied as my appetite: I am stirred to hardness by the sight and smell of a beautiful man or woman, I tremble with joy in front of a beautiful painting, I am moved to tears by a piece of music, or a concept, a story, an ideal-”

“A murder tableau?” Will interrupted.

“Yes”, Hannibal said. “You do understand then?”

“I'm afraid I don't”, Will said, and the words came out icier than he intended. “In fact, I believe your words only serve to prove my point.”

Hannibal looked down and asked, with a measure of uncertainty, such as Will would have found endearing under different circumstances:

“Do you deem it perverse that I can feel something akin to desire for a work of art?”

“Nevermind inanimate objects, Hannibal”, Will said bitingly. “Rewind to the part where you placidly accepted that ‘a beautiful woman’ can ‘stir you to hardness’. That was obviously the introduction for you to finally confess that you did sleep with Bedelia.”

“Will – _no_. For the last time, Will, I did not sleep with her. We have not been intimate ever since we parted ways by mutual agreement in Florence, four years ago.”

Will crossed his arms.

“Why not?” he demanded. “You obviously like her. You more than like her, you find her beautiful, you admire her. You want to _consume_ her. Desire and opportunity equals gratification. If the other partner is willing - and oh, was she ever willing. Instead you’re trying to tell me that you chose to meet in Florence for whatever reason - furtively, and then you just let her go - unscathed. God, how does she always manage to escape you unscathed? And _what_ are you smiling about?”

“At your little tirade, where jealousy and envy meet with outrage and dance together. I’m sorry, but I find it amusing especially because you have no cause for either. Perhaps you will also find it amusing that Bedelia is, in her turn, quite jealous and envious of you. In one memorable instance, she accused me of being obsessed with you. I could see why she reached that conclusion. I was talking about you all the time.”

“Don't try to change the subject.”

“I'm not. I'm trying to make you understand.”

“You had desire and you had opportunity. Tell me why you did not.”

“Because the desire was remote and abstract, like viewing a painting - which is cold, immovable and outside oneself,” Hannibal answered.

He took a deep breath and looked around, seemingly at a loss of how to explain further. Will watched him curiously because Hannibal at a loss for words was not something he saw everyday.

“Ever since you entered my world, Will, I have been struggling to find words for new things”, Hannibal continued, as if in answer to his unspoken thoughts. “And ever since you chose to be part of my life, I found myself giving new meaning to intimacy and desire. In fact I think I can now separate the desire I feel for you, from any such I have felt for the men and women I’ve had previous affairs with.”

“Or for your favourite aria or the Primavera?” Will couldn’t help teasing him.  

“Yes”, Hannibal smiled, relieved that Will was no longer contentious. “The point is - the rest are behind a silver glass of frost in my memory palace. You are coloured in the warmest hues, and you invade every corner of my mind. Even when I’m otherwise engaged, panting or composing or cooking, you're still with me, not in my memory palace, as a frozen, immovable thing, but as a living, breathing _warrior,_ who demands his rights. The fact that you could think I do not desire you is an almost unforgivable sin.”

“Unforgivable”, Will whispered. “Rude?”

“Very”, Hannibal confirmed.

“Why is it then, that we've never, you know?” Will said, shuffling his feet with sudden awkwardness.

“Very eloquent, Will. How come we’ve never what?” Hannibal said, raising an eyebrow.

"We've never uh - progressed beyond just touching each other, into actual sex. Not that I'm complaining, even though it sounded like I was -- earlier. But I was ready for more, and I suppose I assumed you were too. I'm sorry, if this sounds like I'm pressuring you."

"You're not. Additionally, I am relatively surprised by your sudden delicate concern for my feelings. You threw words at me which coming from someone else, would have ensured their demise. You called me a monster - repeatedly. Also, you tried to kill me, also repeatedly, the last time being not so long ago.”

"Yes – I can’t explain, but this is different. Don't make fun of me, please."

"Of course not, dear love. I have an almost sympathy for you in this situation. You have found yourself harbouring a deep attraction for a man you have arbitrarily decided you will never allow yourself to love.”

Will frowned but did not argue.

As Will continued to stay silent, Hannibal said:

“Remember when you stood in my office and asked – in such a trembling tone of voice - how many have there been, like you, like Randall Tier? I was upset at you then for not understanding, that there has never been another for me quite like you. I confess my way of proving it to you was not one you could understand at the time. And you were overtly trying to goad me into confessing to anything illegal, playing your little double game with me – but your voice and your eyes held such hurt and humiliation, that you were not in fact, special to me, nor loved, as a part of you desperately hoped, just used – by a brilliant creature you felt fiercely attracted to but also righteously compelled to kill or confine. But you were wrong, and I was so frustrated at your inability to understand this fundamental thing about me - you who were usually so brilliantly receptive of my thoughts and feelings. I had the absurd, and previously inexperienced, impulse to pull you on my lap, cross my arms around you, and do precisely what you asked of me just now. Nothing would have satisfied me more at that point than to bury myself in you, as deep as you would take me, mark you on the inside as mine. For all the indelicacy of it, cutting through the delicately woven web of words we used to adorn our meetings together, not to mention the violation of the doctor-patient relationship we had, perhaps it was what we both needed at the time - you, to learn how special you were to me; and me - to learn how the hues of my desire for you might change things between us. That was perhaps what I should have done.”

“But your unwavering control won out”, Will said.

“I was taken aback by the direction my thoughts had taken, because the interest in your mind had been up to that point all-consuming to me. Or so I thought. Solid ground was a luxury I rarely found myself treading in those days. I was reeling with the new and strange feelings you were awakening in me. It took a while until I realized that I indeed wanted to possess you in every way. By the time I did, it was too late for any of my survival instincts to manifest themselves properly.”

“Yet still you held back.”

“I was certain that, despite your own obsession with me, you'd never allow yourself to love me.”

“How about now?” Will demanded.

“I'm still not certain.”

“But this - is something we both want”, Will said. “Please - I know I haven't earned it, but - allow me this of you.”

“I have to confess - even after I realized my feelings and desires for you and articulated them plainly in my mind - I have been saving this moment - to give as a reward - to  you, or me, - or as a way of making a point.”

“I was right in thinking you're still playing games, you're always playing with me”, Will frowned. “Was that kiss, after Muskrat Farm, when you brought me home, before you turned yourself in - was that 'making a point'?”

“Something like it.”

“To...make it clear to me where my true loyalties lie.”

“To prove to you that, although you may choose to think differently at times, you enjoy my presence and my continued existence, and are quite miserable without me.”

“I already know that I enjoy you way too much. Your point was fully made.”

“But will you ever try to kill me again?”

“At this point in time, it is the furthest thing from my mind, but my very experience with you has taught me that things change. To answer your question, at some point in the future, I might.”

“So this, then – Us making love properly, is something you wish for entirely separate of this likelihood?”

“Yes. Quite separate.”

“Is it more than morbid curiosity of how someone like me is likely to fuck you?”

Will blinked at Hannibal's uncharacteristic rudeness.

“Oh, it has never been - Look, can we not hide behind words for once? We could lead each other on endlessly like this and not get anywhere. I just - I just want you. I want you to – fuck me, as you so aptly put it. He stumbled over the word, to Hannibal’s amusement. “It’s something I’ve wanted for quite some time now. Please”, he added.

“Alright then, Will. We're going to give an alternate ending to that moment in my office when you asked me about Randall Tier, and killing, and Bedelia, and everything except what you really wanted to ask. Dear heart, I always knew you were set to entrap me. Come here. Give me something to really entrap me with.”

He moved to a shelf and extracted from it a small bottle, which he placed in his pocket. Then he moved over to an armchair and made himself comfortable in it. He then looked up at expectantly at Will, who had remained standing and followed his movements, pupils already blown with arousal, but made no move himself, watching Hannibal expectantly.

“Take off your shirt”, Hannibal directed. Then come here and take off mine, as well.”

Will unconsciously licked his lips and started on the buttons.

“Okay, now your pants - take them off.”

“What about you?”

“What about me? Go on. Take it all off. Excellent. Come closer.”

When Will stood naked right in front of him, Hannibal pulled him into his lap. They kissed each other hungrily, hands sliding over naked skin. After a while, Will pulled back and smiled at Hannibal, pleasant lust clouding his mind. Hannibal smiled back.

“Now what?” Will asked.

“Now, this.”

He maneuvered Will up and then bent across his lap. Will gasped at the unusual position and his hands scrambled to find purchase on the armchair. He felt steady hands stroking over his naked back and ass.

“I am feeling...very exposed,” Will said, cheeks burning.

“Just like in our therapy sessions, then”, Hannibal smirked.

His fingers slowly quested for Will's puckered entrance, and when they found it, applied a gentle caress, followed by a couple of sharp taps. Will drew in a startled breath and his cock twitched, hardening further. He felt Hannibal's cock beneath him, filling rapidly and shifted to press further against it. Dimly he heard the sound of the lube bottle being opened, and then the warm caress on his hole was replaced by a cold finger seeking entrance. Will jumped, and Hannibal stilled him.

“Easy”, he said, in his calm tone. “Easy.”

“I'm sorry”, Will said.

“No apologies necessary. Please be comforted. I have done this before. I know what

I'm doing and how to make this pleasurable.”

“Okay. I haven't. Done this before. As it’s probably obvious. By now. Yeah.”

He laughed, nervously, then gasped as he felt the lubed finger slide inside him tentatively.

“Yes, it's obvious you haven’t, but this is nothing to worry or apologise for”, Hannibal replied, slightly breathless.

The finger was moving slowly and shallowly in and out, and Will squirmed in Hannibal's lap.

“You're so very tight, so this will take some getting used to”, Hannibal said, and his voice was definitely bordering on shaky now.

“Will”, he added.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.”

Hannibal moved his other hand to run through Will’s curls in a tender caress, in a gesture familiar and well-loved between them. It helped ground them, in this new situation, but Will still writhed restlessly in Hannibal's lap, wanting to touch as well.

“Shhh. It's alright, I have you. You need to let me lead this, dear love.” He bent down and kissed the back of Will's shoulder with such tenderness that Will felt tears spring in his eyes. “Do you trust me to lead this?”

His honey-thick accent was ringing new waves of lust through Will's body.

“You're making me crazy just by talking to me”, he answered.

“I know. And I'm going to give you everything you wanted. I'm sorry it took me so long.”

Hannibal added another finger and pressed more insistently, gently goading the tender muscle to give.

“Have you ever fantasized about us doing this during our therapy sessions?” Will asked.

“Apart from the one moment I told you about, I don’t remember any memorable instances. I was too taken with your mind and the possibilities that it entailed”, Hannibal answered truthfully. “But you have? Tell me what you dreamed about, Will.”

“I craved your touch precisely because you withheld it. I fantasized about you because you were so impregnable - even as your calm, cold demeanour was a balm on my tormented mind. Even when I hated you with all my soul, your beauty, your elegance, your _singularit_ y, taunted me with their undeniable presence.”

Hannibal rewarded the confession with another lingering kiss to Will's back, three fingers now moving steadily inside him, stretching him.

Will whimpered with abandon.

“I have always found you beautiful. Exquisitely, painfully so.”

He felt unusually bold, despite – or maybe precisely because of his position. He wouldn’t have found the courage (or the humility) to say those words to Hannibal while the man’s brown eyes were gazing into his own.

Hannibal’s fingers touched a place inside him which added depth and urgency to Will’s moans.

“Painfully?” Hannibal echoed.

“Yes”, Will gasped. It felt difficult to form words, but he persisted, voicing thoughts he was shaping for the first time in his mind. “Like I couldn’t bear to look on you, yet I wanted to more than anything – and I _had_ to look, and be drawn to you, like a moth to a flame, like reaching for an oasis in the desert even though the water might be poisonous.”

Will could hear the smile in Hannibal’s voice as he asked:

“Because of my perceived immorality? Or your perceived innocence?”

“Things rarely are black and white, you are right, but – I feel sometimes as if… you’ve dragged me into your Underworld.”

“I did not drag you. I did not grab, I did not pull. That would be rude – and uninteresting.”

Hannibal’s words arrived at Will through a haze of lust. The marginally uncomfortable feeling of being stretched was mitigated by occasional caresses to his sweet spot, so it became increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the anticipation of the next rush of pleasure.

“You came to me”, Hannibal continued.

Will made a vague noise that could have equally meant assent or denial.

“You followed the scent of my madness like a bloodhound, led only by the power of your fascination with me. Of course, once you did come to me, I decided naturally not to let a good thing go to waste.”

“Even though I wasn’t everything you hoped for?” Will slurred.

“I think neither of us have lived to the expectations of the imago in each other’s minds.”

“The perfect version of ourselves…”

“-is nonexistent. Always is.”

“And even if – I cannot be entirely yours?”

“You keep running away, but you always come back. It’s how the story goes.”

“What if I stopped running?”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep, Will.”

“I want to.”

“It will come with the expectation of a compromise on my part, won’t it?”

“Or on mine.”

Hannibal’s fingers stilled, then pulled out, resting on Will’s back.

“Beautiful, dangerous, unpredictable creature, you already know there is nothing in the world I won’t accept from you.”

Will held his breath at the genuine adoration shining through Hannibal’s words. His earlier jealousy and concerns suddenly seemed remote and ridiculous.

Hannibal gripped Will’s shoulders, lifting him up. He opened his pants and took out his erect cock, with a sigh of relief. Will drank in the sight of him. His eyes were warm and heavy with desire.

“Come here”, he said, directing Will to sit in his lap. Will hesitantly put one leg on each side of Hannibal's chair and looked down at him uncertainly. Hannibal caressed him, both hands roaming his back, then stopping at his hips, beginning to pull Will down slowly but insistently on his cock.

As the muscle still showed resistance, Will's left hand flew to steady himself on Hannibal's shoulder, arresting the slow movement.

Hannibal allowed this, but when it became apparent that Will was too scared of the unfamiliar sensation to allow himself more of it, he grabbed Will's hand which tried to stop him for the third time, pressing his lips to Will's palm and whispering:

“Shh no, trust me on this”, then he grabbed at Will with both arms wound around his back and, palms tightening on his shoulders, pulled Will down abruptly, thrusting himself inside him.

Will gasped in shock, shaking silently, fully seated in Hannibal's lap.

“Alright, that's it, dear Will”, Hannibal continued, on the same soothing whisper, but with some measure of satisfaction. He kept himself still and held Will close. “It hurts at first. Like any sacrifice, any change, and anything we do for love - it hurts at first.”

Will huffed slightly, but found sarcasm did not come easily to him for once, so he said nothing, instead he brought up a hand to tangle in Hannibal's hair. One was not enough, so he wound both of them round Hannibal, holding tight. His mouth dropped on Hannibal’s forehead, speaking a language unknown.

Hannibal's arms gradually loosened around him, dropping around Will's hips, as he leaned back into the armchair and pushed Will a little, so he could look into his face. Will met his gaze with dazed eyes which craved acceptance, and _begged_ no judgement. Hannibal brought up a hand to his face and brushed away a few tears Will hadn't noticed had fallen. The fingers continued on, to brush against the scar on Will’s cheek. It had needed a new round of stitches after his encounter with Crump, which Hannibal had applied, and then removed when he deemed it was time, but made no comment whatsoever.

“Why have you started shaving?” Hannibal asked, on the same hushed tone.

“I suppose it was an act of defiance”, Will answered, his voice broken by momentary shivers. “Childish, maybe”, he continued, as if to himself. “I know the obvious thing to do was hide the scar and that is precisely why I did not want to do it. Perhaps it was more than this. The act of shaving became something I did every morning to - prepare myself for the world. I stood in front of the mirror and I looked at myself, and I applied the shaving cream and went through the motions, like I was peeling off a mask, but instead I was applying it.”

“I love your scar. And I love your defiance”, Hannibal said, and started moving slowly inside him.

Will held himself rigid on the first few strokes, but soon he started moving as well, against Hannibal’s body, hesitant and clumsy in the beginning, but gradually growing more unguarded and reckless, as chasing the pleasure and closeness took precedence in his mind over all other concerns.

“I was watching you, in those days after you left the hospital, going through the motions”, Hannibal continued, voice rough with lust. “Your eyes were dim and you looked as though you were indeed wearing a mask. You ached for me, didn't you?”

Will remembered the session with Bedelia, where she asked him, with what he regarded at the time as unbelievable flippancy, if he ached for Hannibal, and revealed that Hannibal himself felt a stab of hunger for him - the kind that received nourishment at the very sight of him.

“I – I don’t want to talk about that time now…please”, Will said, his voice shaking. He knew Hannibal would acquiesce, and possibly find satisfaction in his reply, especially at the begging note in his voice.

He was proven right when Hannibal tightened his hold on him, and rewarded him with deeper, lengthier thrusts, which had Will gasping and rolling his eyes.

“I had the bad luck of falling in love with you long before I knew you fully”, Will almost sobbed, after a short while, grasping at Hannibal’s shoulder’s like a drowning man. He needed – something – he knew not what. Not what Molly had given him, not like any woman in his life had given him. Something altogether _other_ , and Hannibal held the key to it. “And then it did not die”, he persisted, in his delirium, “it changed hue - it borrowed from your darkness and became -- a strange obsession. You told me I colour your life in luminous hues – but you have made me love the darkness. Please, Hannibal, _please_ …,” he insisted, begging for what he himself knew not what, but his fingers were gripping his lover’s body, caressing and grasping what they could reach.

“I had the bad luck of falling in love with you long before I realized I had”, Hannibal said, echoing Will’s earlier words, and almost his breathlessness. “The first time I saw you. The name I gave it was fascination. Remember the first day we met, in Jack's office?”

“Vividly”, Will said, swallowing. “I'm blessed with a photographic memory, although probably not to rival yours.”

“You told me off for psychoanalyzing you. I've eaten people for less, you know.” Hannibal gave him a rare grin, slowing his thrusts to a lazy pace.

“But you had different plans for me”, Will countered. 'The mongoose under your house when the snakes slither by.' That seemed so weird to me when you said it – but now I see. Now I _see”_ , he repeated, like a line in a hymn. “But it seems I have graduated from under your house to in your bed, Doctor Lecter”, he snarked, with a touch of his old rudeness. What’s changed?”

Hannibal’s eyes widened momentarily at Will’s deliberate flippancy, and he increased his rhythm, with pointed insistence. Will keened with every deepening thrust, his hands flying to Hannibal’s shoulders, to push him away – to restrain him, to grasp him closer? But they failed against the passion and persistence of Hannibal’s body seeking to be close to Will’s.

“I'm judging your period of adjustment to be over”, Hannibal said, as if to himself, in a  mock-threatening tone which made Will tingle with excitement. “You’re mine to please as I see fit.”

Will gave a startled moan at the first rub of Hannibal’s cock against his prostate. It felt better than the fingers, the pressure was strong and delicious. Hannibal repeated it, a harder jab this time, and Will's moan ended on a note of almost-agony.

He shifted Will in his lap so he could stab his prostate on every thrust in, his gaze focused on his lover’s face intently. Will grasped at Hannibal, pulling his hair, with a litany of moaning pleas, incoherent 'please more' mixing with 'please enough, i can't'.

“Let it wash over you”, Hannibal said, drinking him in, with no small amount of satisfaction, seeming to catalogue every look that passed on his face and every sound he made. “I'm not going to touch your cock yet, and neither will you, even though you crave it. Otherwise this would be over much sooner than I wish.”

Will made a broken sound and reached for his cock and despite his earlier words, Hannibal allowed him that, his gaze still fixed on him. As he tugged at himself, with increasing desperation, Will tried to return the look, but his eyes slipped shut involuntarily, his features contorting against the onslaught of sensations.

Just as Will started to dissolve into blinding pleasure, Hannibal abruptly pulled him off and sat up. Will stood, dazed, on shaky legs. Hannibal took off his own pants with less than his usual care, then pushed Will towards the couch, manhandling him face down. Before Will could complain of the uncharacteristic rough treatment, he felt Hannibal pushing insistently inside him again - the sensation of being filled no longer uncomfortable, but oddly gratifying. He arched off the couch and moaned, reaching an arm back, to bring their bodies even closer together. Hannibal leaned over him, braced against the couch for leverage and started thrusting inside him with the crude purpose of pure lust.

Words were forgotten, but for the breathless uttering of each other's names. Will sneaked a hand on his cock and started rubbing himself again, in time with Hannibal’s thrusts. This time there were no interruptions, and Will was soon shuddering on the brink of climax, the mingled sensations overwhelming. It swept over him like an inexorable tide, leaving nothing but numbing pleasure and dazzling brightness in the halls of his mind.

Hannibal groaned brokenly and puffed into Will's hair, over Will thrashing underneath him. As Will stilled, in the aftermath of his climax, Hannibal resumed his thrusts, all control forgotten, his desperation laid bare, breath coming in short gasps.

“I want to see you”, Will said, voice wrecked.

Hannibal slipped out and turned Will around, laying him on the couch on his back. Will allowed Hannibal to position him and when he slipped back inside him, he took Hannibal's face in his hands, tracing fingers over high cheekbones, over the lines of his forehead, over the curve of his lips, and feasted on the sight with wonder. Then he wrapped himself tightly around Hannibal’s body, uncaring of anything in that particular moment, except his possession of Hannibal and Hannibal’s possession of him. Hannibal reacted by letting go of Will’s hips and wrapping his own arms around Will, bringing their bodies as close as possible. His thrusts turned again uncoordinated and desperate and Will realized his neck was wet with Hannibal’s tears. His cock twitched at the realization, although it was too soon for him to get fully hard again - but occasional brushes against his prostate made him shudder and cling tighter still.

When Hannibal came, it was with an agonized whisper of Will's name, his lips heavy with intent against his pulse point.

Will gave a long sigh, exhausted but bone-deep satisfied. He belatedly realized he had been experiencing their coupling from both vintage points.

Hannibal pulled out and stood up, giving Will a long look. Will smiled back dopily and the corners of Hannibal's mouth curved slightly upwards in answer.

“Please come back here”, Will slurred.

“We badly need a wash.”

“You're like a cat. We'll be fine for a while. Come here.”

Hannibal furrowed his brows momentarily, but obeyed. They ended up falling asleep entangled in each other on the too small couch, until the evening deepened into night, and night turned into early morning. Will finally awoke in the stillness of the dawn, and despite his sore muscles and the uncomfortable position of his arms and legs, he felt weak with love and happiness.

"Please don't leave", Hannibal whispered to him and Will knew he didn’t mean just for that moment, and his heart soared. He wanted to laugh in triumph.

Instead he tightened his fingers in Hannibal's hair and kissed his brow, his cheekbones and down his neck - open, lingering kisses, dizzy with desire and with the joy of possession.

‘I've got you now’, he thought at Hannibal. ‘Now I've truly caught you.’

‘What am I going to do with you?’ Their thoughts intersected and entwined. ‘Whatever it is, has the scent of forever.’


	9. Chapter 9

They spent the day making lazy love. It was a fitting time for it - the heavy snow had softened into rain. Will inhaled deeply the sweet earthy smell of it when he opened the door to allow Lito outside and later when he let him back in. At night, the rain made its way into his dreams.

_He was with Hannibal on a boat adrift at sea, in a heavy storm. He did not know how they got there, where they were going, how they were expected to survive the storm, or to get by without any food or water in sight, but such issues were of no concern to his dream self. Dream-Will was running his index finger slowly along the dull edge of a knife in his pocket, and the knife was blunt. He kept worrying and wondering, how was he ever going to kill Hannibal with a blunt knife. Hannibal was off to the side of the boat trying to catch fish. ‘You need a lure’, Will told him. But Dream-Hannibal didn’t need a lure to catch fish; his big hands dived in the water and grasped live, struggling fish, which he set down at Will’s feet, arranging them artfully, and grinned up at him, proudly. ‘You need to wring their necks’, Dream-Hannibal told him. The rain plastered his blonde locks to his face and he wrinkled his nose like a child. He was all smiles for Will, and he had no idea that Will was planning to kill him – with a blunt knife._

_‘What is the colour of the rain?’ Dream-Hannibal asked him. Dream-Will understood the meaning behind the words, that Will, upon waking, would not. ‘It is colourless’, Dream-Will answered. ‘Yes. So why do you dress it in white?’ Dream-Hannibal was sad, and Dream-Will suddenly realized he knew about the blunt knife in his pocket. ‘Because you want to dress the rain, we can’t be friends.’ The storm swept their little boat this way and that, and they were probably going to be cast into the ocean at any moment. But Hannibal and Will were unconcerned about it, as they were mournfully considering how the colour of the rain divided them. ‘But it has to be white, Hannibal’, Dream-Will said. ‘It has to be’. Because – really, there was no other way, he might as well have denied that his name was Will Graham or that they were on a boat. An angry wave swept Hannibal’s offering of fish back into the water. ‘Soon all this will be lost to the sea’, Dream-Hannibal said wistfully._

Will started violently in Hannibal’s arms. Hannibal made an incoherent sound and tightened his hold on him instinctively but did not wake.

When they had started sleeping together, Hannibal would wake whenever Will had nightmares, and try to question him about them – but Will did not want to talk, he only wanted the comfort of his closeness. Hannibal soon became accustomed to Will’s occasional nightmares, so that, half-asleep, he would automatically reach to pull him closer and hold him tighter. The gesture never failed to make Will feel grateful and loved.

The memory of the dream still nagged at Will. He felt relieved that it was over – not because of the comfort of a warm bed instead of a wet plank, but because of the heartrending sadness which had plagued him in the dream. He tried to make sense of the few words he remembered, but the conversation seemed bereft of its profound meaning which had been so clear to his dream self. Will could only surmise it was centred upon the endless argument of morality and killing.

But the rational deduction of Awake-Will was no match for Dream-Will’s bitter and intense understanding and his strong conviction that the rain must be white. And no match still for his hollow sadness and loneliness as he sat huddled in his corner of the boat, distanced and remote from the wild beautiful beast who was Hannibal, laughing in the storm and catching fish with his bare hands.

Will sniffed quietly as he tried to calm his breathing. He turned slowly in Hannibal’s arms, so as not to wake him, and looked into his still, sleeping face.

‘Why do you love me?’ he asked Hannibal in his mind. ‘ _How_ can you love me? You’re a god blessed with certainties and power. You have claimed the right to deal death and judgement and to make art and beauty as you see fit. I’m a poor, trembling creature, plagued with doubt and vices. Are we not deceiving each other?’

His fingers traced Hannibal’s face slowly.

Hannibal opened his eyes, caught Will’s fingers and kissed them – feather-light kisses which made Will shudder.

The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them:

“Please don’t go after Alana.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched against his skin and moved no further, waiting.

“…Bedelia told me”, Will hastened to explain. “She said she found for you the location of an old friend. So I assumed Alana.”

Will instantly missed the warmth of Hannibal’s mouth on his fingers, as they were abruptly released. They twitched and twisted, seeking to hang on. Hannibal raised his head and looked levelly at Will:

“So this is how it’s going to go, you think?”

“What?”

“Oh, Will”, Hannibal said, with a sad smile. “You think that – just like this – you’ll control me – what to do, who not to _kill_? You didn’t even play it right, sweet clueless boy. If you were going to seduce me, you were supposed to _deny_ me first, instead of begging me for it.”

“Not everything is a game, Hannibal! At least not one that _I_ was playing,” Will shouted, angered and disgusted at the implication that he would use sex to control Hannibal. “I thought we were beyond games now.”

“You’re blackmailing me, then. ‘If you love me, you’ll stop’? Is this what you want to say to me, Will?”

“…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know”, Hannibal parroted, with a cold sneer.

The memory of his dream hit Will anew mixed with the horrible certainty of reality.

Hannibal turned over in bed, he lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling.

“I’ll never stop”, he spoke, with the certainty of the truly mad. “Never”, he emphasized with calm self-assurance. “You may choose to leave, or to stay. You may choose to observe or participate. You may kill again like deep down inside you’re aching to. You may choose to never let me near you again like this. You may try to kill me. You may sell me to people who’d love to get their hands on me, or go to the police and tell them where to find me. You’re free to do anything, Will – notice how I’m not keeping you chained in my dungeon. But whatever you do, please return the courtesy of allowing me the same freedom.”

“I can’t”, Will whispered.

“Then I look forward to seeing you try and stop me. But not by bargaining, dear Will. You don’t hold any cards anymore, sweet thing – you’ve laid them all for me to take. I know you belong to me now – heart, body and soul. You’d suffer just as much as I if you denied me, or chose to leave, or harmed me.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t do it”, Will said, stubbornly.

“No, it doesn’t”, Hannibal admitted.

They eyed each other warily.

“You said I belong to you heart, body and soul – and maybe I do. But my mind is still my own”, Will ventured.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Your beautiful mind is what drew me to you so inexorably. Perhaps it’s fate that it should also be my downfall. But remember, Will, that I have a mind of my own, and I’ll use it to chip away at your resistance, even as you try to chip at mine. I am, as ever, curious what you would do.”

“God, Hannibal – can’t we, for once….”,  Will trailed off, frustrated at Hannibal’s perverse geniality. “Why Alana? You let Bedelia go, against all odds and common sense!” he couldn’t help pointing out, resentfully.

“Bedelia proved herself useful, and may prove useful still. Alana stood in my kitchen and made her choice to kill me, despite the fact that I offered to spare her. She stepped off her moral highground only to enlist my help in getting rid of Mason Verger. I ensured her wealth and comfort by confessing to that murder, although it was not mine. Once I was incarcerated, I could have told the truth, but I kept my end of the bargain, in return for certain privileges, such as access to my books. She only kept her end of the bargain for as long as it suited her.”

“She was in an impossible situation!”

“Of her own making, surely.”

“She must still be terrified by the mere memory of you. I’d say you’ve punished her enough.”

“But I always keep my promises – and I made her two. One I kept, the other is in waiting. Although, the humiliations I endured while I was imprisoned under her care would alone warrant her demise.”

Will shook his head.

“You would have me let go of the past, but you still hang on to your own. I’d have expected more from you.”

Hannibal stayed silent and did not take the bait.

“If you go after her now, you’ll only be drawing attention to yourself,” Will tried again. “Please consider that at least, if you consider nothing else.”

“I have. And I’ve decided the benefits outweigh the risks.”

Will nodded, dejectedly.

“When were you going to tell me?” he demanded.

“I wasn’t. I have a ticket to Switzerland booked. I trust no more than 24 to 30 hours are needed to take care of it. I was going to give you something to ensure you slept soundly through it. You wouldn’t have known.”

“I would have known that I was missing time!” Will said, through gritted teeth. A quite familiar feeling, to me,” he couldn’t help adding.

“Yes. You would have suspected that I used that time to make another victim, and that much I would have confirmed, if you confronted me. But I would have given no specifics.”

“So you must have anticipated my reaction, then.”

“I anticipated your reaction and also my counter-reaction, which is why I wanted to save both of us the argument and annoyance.”

“Annoyance? Maybe annoyance on your part, on my part it’s – a sense of hollow resignation. I’m going with you.”

“To try and stop me?”

“No. Because I can’t stay here now that I know.”

“I can’t trust you to take you with me, Will.”

“You may need help. It may be a trap. Did you think about that, Hannibal? Did your brilliant mind consider this?” Will couldn’t help taunting. “Bedelia gave you the address. Do you trust her not to lead you into a trap?”

“If Bedelia wanted me caught, all she had to do was lead the police here to our door. Yes, I trust her to know her best interest. Right now, her best interest is not to deceive me.”

“Fine. Even assuming Bedelia was as good as her word - Margot and Alana have the means to employ an entire police station if they so wish. And my guess is that they do. You may be walking into a lion’s den – alone.”

“Your interest has transparently evolved from worry for Alana’s safety to concern for mine,” Hannibal pointed out sarcastically.

Will blinked.

“I feel responsible for you – in more ways than one”, he confessed.

“Fascinating”, Hannibal replied, with thinly veiled annoyance. He sat up and made to exit the room. At the door, he paused and turned, only to tell Will:

“My ticket is for tomorrow night, by the way.”

“I’m coming with.”

“Who’s going to stay with Lito?”

“You can’t tell me you’re worried about him now. You were going to knock me unconscious for 24 hours and in no position to look after him. I’ll leave him food. He’ll be fine on his own, if it’s just for a day and a night.”

“And if it’s not?”

“You admit to possible complications, then.”

“I admit that anything can happen. Taking you with me will most likely invite complications.”

“We can either travel together, or I can follow you. Up to you.”

“I’ll make another reservation”, Hannibal relented, his eyes fixed appraisingly on Will. For a second he looked as if he was about to say something more, but then turned on his heels and left the room.

Will exhaled slowly. The confrontation had all the hallmarks of a disaster and it was all Will’s fault for blundering into such a sensitive subject with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, but at least Hannibal wasn’t leaving him behind. He contemplated the situation as an idea began to take shape in his mind. He remembered the old man at the chapel on the rocks, with his dusty house and yellow cat and his stubborn loneliness. That was the only time he saw Hannibal reluctant to take a life - when he saw that fate had decided to prolong it by cruel irony - even as Will could emphatically feel Hannibal itch with the desire to make art of the old man’s murder.

~

They traveled to the airport and boarded the plane in almost oppressive silence. Will worried about Alana, he worried about Hannibal, and he worried about Lito. He was also quietly miserable. He had felt so safe and loved not so long ago, only to have everything turn on its head again.

As if reading his mind, Hannibal reached out tentatively to tap the back of his hand with his fingers, an absent rhythm, like trying a new composition on the piano. Will raised his eyes and met Hannibal’s affectionate gaze. Enheartened by the look, he rolled his eyes, and whispered:

“We could have been in our warm bed, making love right now.”

“I know”, came Hannibal’s answer.

“Instead we’re on a 5-hour plane trip with 3 stops in between, to get halfway across the globe, just because your pride took a tumble once or twice.”

Hannibal wrinkled his nose as if he found Will’s words unfair.

“Not _just_ ”, he argued.

“Why is it so important for you that Alana died? More important than our comfort. More important than our safety.”

The choice of pronoun that Will used – _our_ , instead of _your_ , did not go unnoticed by Hannibal, who afforded him a warm look.

“Comfort and safety are always balanced along a knife’s edge –  poised to fall on the unforgiving blade and dissolve into bloody pieces. One cannot preserve their balance forever.”

“It is true that you and I have always conversed among notes played in extremis.”

“There is no other way for you and I”, Hannibal answered.

He paused.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Will. Don’t mistake me, I still feel no obligation to give in to your request to spare Alana, but I appreciate the company.”

Will bravely resisted the urge to snort, and instead smiled wanly. Only Hannibal could be so impeccably polite under the circumstances.

“I know you’re thinking of stopping me”, Hannibal continued.

“Yet the prospect does not seem to bother you,” Will said lightly.

“It is not because I underestimate you. But I believe that you yourself don’t know how you may react under certain circumstances – unless directly faced with them.”

“You think I’d kill.”

“I’m hoping”, Hannibal acknowledged.

Will laughed, despite himself. Hannibal watched him with undisguised appreciation, as he broke into an answering grin.

Then he laced his fingers among Will’s own and laid his head back in the seat, settling comfortably for a nap, the ghost of a smile still playing across his face.

Will stared at him. Hannibal loved in such strange ways. Always, in his presence, he felt raw and exposed, like facing off the whim of elements – as likely to be torn apart with vicious cruelty as he was to be worshiped like something infinitely precious. He knew better now than to call it a paradox _._ It was all Hannibal and everything was him. Hannibal defied classification, he was simply all-encompassing.

As he watched Hannibal’s chest rise and fall slowly in sleep, Will realized that his primary concern was to protect Hannibal against possible dangers they might encounter, rather than finding ways to save Alana.

~

Margot and Alana lived like princesses in a tower, their villa sheltered by mountains, unreachable by public roads. They have made isolation their shield, but it was also their weakness. And by keeping themselves away from prying eyes, they have ensured vivid speculation about them.

So it was that the man who agreed to take Hannibal and Will to the villa in his carriage was eager to impart what little information he knew about the foreign ladies, in the hopes of receiving more in return.  

“Better they’d have sent someone to meet you. It isn’t easy to get up there, you know. Lucky for you, I know the way. Been there many times. I make deliveries.”

“We didn’t call in advance”, Hannibal explained. “We wanted to surprise them.”

“They keep themselves to themselves, you know. Don’t like to mingle much. I guess they can do whatever they damn well please with that kind of money, hah. Are you friends? Family?”

“Friends with both”, Hannibal said. “We go way back. Alana is a dear old friend, whom I haven’t seen in a while. I’m positively craving her company, and I’m sure she’ll be juiced to see me. Margot I helped through a difficult time, family troubles, but then the waves of life threw us apart. I daresay she’ll be pleased to see me, too.”

“If you ask me, not much pleases Ms Margot Verger these days. Whenever I catch a glimpse of her… well, let’s just say it looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.”

Will pondered how ironic it was that Margot had played herself into a corner. She had obtained what she wanted most, freedom from Mason, her wealth intact, a family of her making, on her own terms, but at the price of continued visibility, when anonymity would have helped her the most. Mason haunted her from beyond the grave by having the Verger name inexorably attached to the wealth she inherited. That ensured that she could not stay anonymous and keep her money, and as much as she wanted to leave everything behind, the child whom she schemed to obtain was the true heir. Will supposed Margot thought she owed him a comfortable life. Was she fond of Mason’s child? Not as fond as she’d have been of her own, surely. Who was also _his own._ Will viciously clamped down on that painful train of thought.

He tried to re-focus on the conversation still going on around him. Hannibal was asking about Alana.

“I haven’t seen much of her”, the delivery man answered. She keeps herself even more shut in than Margot.” The man shrugged, as if to signal the end of his knowledge on the subject.

“And their child?” Will stepped in, before Hannibal could press further.

“Oh, little Morgan? He goes to school with my son. He’s a right brat, he is.” The man laughed indulgently.

“Is he?” Hannibal said.

“You know how kids are.”

“I’ll be happy to meet little Morgan. I have long wished for a child of my own”, Hannibal drawled, off Will’s horrified gaze. “What’s Morgan like?”

“Oh, he’s a kid, you know. Kids are just….kids”, he ended helplessly. It was obviously not a topic he could discuss at length so Hannibal changed tactics.

“Is he more sociable than his mothers? Is he friends with your son?”

“Well, Roger talks a lot about him, he sounds like quite the character.”

“Really? What does Roger say?”

“Well, only recently there was an incident, with a mad dog. Apparently someone let a mad dog loose on their premises. It attacked one of their servants and had to be shot.”

“Not by little Morgan, surely?”

“No, no. The caretaker shot him. But Morgan was present. The next day at school, he was regaling everyone with the story, probably embellishing it, you know how kids are. Another child would have been scared, maybe traumatized, you know? But not Morgan, he’s a tough little fellow. And quite the storyteller apparently. His story made a big impression on my Roger. It ended up giving _him_ nightmares. Turns out the mad dog was Morgan’s pet, Tintin, who disappeared a couple of weeks back. Someone took him and starved him, by the looks of it, kept him chained, so when he escaped, he was out of control in his search of food. Went for everything that moved. Sad for the boy to lose his dog like this, but nothing to be done about it. I’d have shot him, too.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Will cut in, with more vehemence than he intended to.

“Look, it was rabid. Out of control.”

“It was starved. Someone tortured him and then let him loose, I think you said.”

“I agree with you there but there was really nothing to be done for him. He was too dangerous.”

“You should have been looking for whoever used him like this and possibly shoot _him_.”

“Let it go, _Adam”,_ Hannibal accented meaningfully.

Will glanced sharply at him.

The first time Hannibal called him Adam, when he had given him his fake passport, Will couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Oh I see,’ he had said. ‘Subtle. As in, me being your creation, right? Let’s see, who does that make you?’ He abruptly snatched Hannibal’s passport from his hand and looked. ‘Viggo’, he tried it on his tongue. ‘Hm. Danish. You do look it. And your accent is exotic enough to be unplaceable.’

‘Thank you for your honesty’, Hannibal had replied, clippingly, taking his own passport back. ‘You on the other hand, better practice your British accent.’

Yet Will found that even his arbitrarily(?) given name on Hannibal’s tongue held the same ability to entrance him. The name became infused with its mythical qualities when Hannibal addressed him so, it was tinged with possession, as if he was truly Hannibal’s creation, but still breathing a life of his own, only of epic proportions. Will did end up getting a new name, after his baptism in the waters of the Atlantic. And it was Hannibal-bestowed.

-

“You know, we did look”, back in Switzerland the man told Will on a subdued tone, careful not to set him off again. “The police got involved. They couldn’t find the man who kidnapped the dog and then set him loose on the Vergers in such a state. They looked everywhere.” He paused. “There’s one place they didn’t look, though”, he put in, shrewdly. “The Verger estate.”

“Are you implying that maybe the dog wasn’t kidnapped after all? That it was simply kept chained and starved on the residence?” Hannibal asked, with relish.

The man put up his palms. “Who knows? Maybe someone who worked there had a bone to pick with his mistresses…”

“Ah. For a moment there, I thought you might accuse little Morgan.”

“A five year old? No, no,” the man defended himself. “He’s just a child. And you know…”

“…how kids are, yes, yes”, Hannibal supplied. He smiled pleasantly.

“Well, here we are, then”, the man eventually said, as an opulent manor loomed into view. “You will need to call someone to come and open these gates for you.”

“Thank you. We’ll take it from here,” Hannibal said and paid the man generously.

“Thank _you_ , sir. I’ll see you around.”

Hannibal and Will stepped out and the carriage started the slow trek back downhill.

“You let him go”, Will murmured, as they watched it turn the first corner.

“You would have had me kill him?” Hannibal said.

“No, I would have had you do no such thing. But it was reckless, he can give a description of us now.”

“When I’m through with Alana, a description of me would be redundant. I’ll have signed my work in brush strokes such as all Europe and America would be able to read and trace back to me.”

“And I thought I was the suicidal one”, Will quipped.

Hannibal did not answer, instead he turned from the gate and retreated back into the shadow of the trees. He kept to the treeline as he began to circle the fenced property, studying it intently.

Will hurried alongside him, and struggled to find words in a last desperate attempt to persuade him.

“Hannibal. You are outside your comfort zone. You usually stalk your victims prior, you learn their habits, where they live, where they’ll be at a certain time, where they’d be easier to apprehend, and when. Now you’re playing blind. This sort of unprepared hit isn’t your style, and you’re making yourself vulnerable. You’ll fail, Hannibal, you’ll get yourself killed, or caught.”

Will was aware he sounded pleading and distressed, something Hannibal would normally respond favourably to.

But this time, Hannibal only answered with:

“Some risks are worth taking.”

They moved along, stealthily, under the cover of the trees.

“Are you concerned about me, Will – if I’m killed or apprehended – or is this merely concern for yourself?” Hannibal eventually said. “How will you play it?”

“Oh, so this is how it’s going to go, then?” Will sneered, unconsciously mirroring Hannibal’s earlier words to him. “You throw us into reckless danger, so I’ll be forced to act and you’ll get to see where my loyalties lie?”

“Simplistically put”, Hannibal answered. “But yes, this is how it’s going to go.”

His words held a finality that Will did not like one bit.

Will stopped and watched him as he changed direction and moved swiftly, like a shadow, towards the manor. He felt rooted on the spot, unable to move, compelled to only follow Hannibal with his eyes as he stepped closer and closer to the house. His memory rushed back to a distant shore where he lay and watched with the same helplessness as a boat moved further and further away.

Soon, Hannibal faded from view in the looming shadows of the setting sun. Silence fell, the sounds of the early evening remote. Minutes passed. Will was tense, as if he was expecting, any second now, a noise, a scream, the earth to open and swallow him. But silence still reigned, until suddenly – a shot rang out.

Will jumped, and for a split second, his mind was a perfect blank of terror. Then he shook himself, as if released from a spell, and set off towards the house, at a run, panting with nerves and exertion. Not bothering to hide or look for alternate entries, he reached the front door and banged on it loudly, hoping to interrupt or put a stop to whatever was going on inside. 

It was Margot herself who opened the door.

“Will. What a surprise”, she said drily, insinuating that it was no surprise at all.

“Where is Hannibal?”

“Don’t you worry. Took care of him myself.”

“What have you done?”

“Not myself as such. Technically Marc and Robert did, but I take full credit. Direction points, if you will. And I’m not nearly done.”

“It looks like you’ve been expecting him?”

“We’re always expecting him. Always. But not anymore. Our long wait and torture is over.”

“Margot –“

“Will. You’ll forgive me for asking, but are you here as a friend or as an enemy?”

“This is entirely up to you, Margot. I want to help you, and I will do my best to help you, if you let me, at great risk to myself. But you must not harm Hannibal.”

“Oh, that’s nice”, Margot laughed, shrilly. “In that case, I think I’ll help myself.”

A man appeared behind Margot, and sized Will up, suspiciously.

“Is this one giving you trouble, too?” he asked her.

Before Margot could answer, Will reacted swiftly, surprising even himself. He took the gun out of his back pocket and fired, once. The man fell to the ground, with a hole in his forehead.

Margot gasped in shock. Will trained the gun on her.

“Take me to Hannibal.”

Margot hesitated.

“Remember what I told you, Margot. You can save Alana, or you can doom her. Make your choice now.”

Margot looked doubtful.

“You won’t kill me, Will.”

“No, but I will shoot to incapacitate, maybe knock you out while I look for Hannibal myself. By the time you come to your senses, Alana will be dead.”

Margot nodded briefly, as if to agree, but then turned abruptly and set off at a run inside the house, screaming:

“Help, he’s got a gun!”

Will followed on her heels, prepared to shoot at anything that moved. A door opened and two men appeared, shooting at Will, who ran aimlessly into the first room on his left, closing the door behind him and blocking it with a nearby dresser, then ducked behind a couch to avoid the bullets which kept on coming through the door. He was beginning to panic, realizing he was trapped, as the sound of a child’s voice rang out:

“What are you doing here?”

Will turned, startled, and came face to face with the curious face of a child, who did not seem very frightened, considering that bullets were raining down in their immediate vicinity.

“Morgan”, Will whispered.

“Yes”, the child nodded. “Who are you? You can’t be here. I’ll scream.”

Will grinned.

“Yes, Morgan. Scream. Scream for mummy. I’ll help.” And then louder, he yelled: “Margot! I’ve got Morgan here with me. Call off your dogs, _right now_!”

Morgan looked at him askance, considering him.

Will winked at him.

“Let’s see what happens, shall we?”

The bullets stopped, and the door to the room trembled on its hinges, but the dresser did not budge.

“Will!” Margot’s voice came through. “Open this door right now, or you’ll regret it! Morgan, are you alright? Are you hurt, baby?”

“I’m fine, mom. What is this man doing in my room?”

“He won’t be in your room for long, baby. Don’t be afraid. Mommy’s here.”

“I’m not afraid”, Morgan scoffed. “It’s kind of fun. I wish I had a gun to shoot at him. Can I get one?”

“I’ll give you mine”, Will told him. “But only if you make your mommy promise not to hurt me, or my friend.”

“But you’re a bad man. You came into our house without permission”, Morgan complained.

There was nothing Will could say to refute that.

“He’s really clever for his age, isn’t he?” Margot’s voice was heard, now sounding more relaxed. “Now Will, listen to me. You will open this door, and you have my word you will not be harmed. You will give me your gun. Then I will take you to Hannibal.”

Will pondered. Sweat was running off his forehead. Finally, he answered:

“No. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll open the door. You will come in, alone. We’ll talk. Your goons will be on standby until such time as you and I have finished talking, and we have reached a decision. They are not to harm Hannibal in the meantime either.”

“You will let Morgan go?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? He stays here. He’s the only thing keeping me safe right now.”

He heard Margot sigh.

“Alright”, she said, defeated. “You heard him”, she spoke, presumably to the two shooters. “Stay here. For God’s sake, don’t do anything. And don’t shoot through this door anymore, you can hurt my son. Open this door now, Will.”

Will stood on shaky legs, threw Morgan a cautionary look to stay where he was, and moved towards the dresser, pushing it slowly away from the door. He kept his gun ready for anything unexpected, but only Margot came in, and she closed the door behind her. Will started to push the dresser back in place.

“What are you doing?” Margot said.

“Forgive me, but I don’t feel very secure right now. I just want a chance to talk to you in peace, and I’m making sure no one disturbs us.”

Once Will had finished blocking the door, he turned to find Margot was sitting on the couch, Morgan clasped tightly to her chest. The child watched Will through narrowed eyes, and appeared seemingly unaffected by this outburst of motherly affection.

“I’m sorry”, Will said. “I did not intend for this. Involving Morgan… But if you had stayed and listened to me, instead of running away and screaming…. “

“How do you know my son’s name? Did he tell you?” Margot interrupted him.

“The delivery man who drove us up here…he told us about him”, Will answered, his eyes briefly flickering to Morgan’s.

“Did you kill him?”

“No”, Will answered.

Margot raised an eyebrow, disbelieving.

“Margot”, Will said, coming to sit next to her on the couch. She flinched. “Please, hear me. No one has to die.”

“You’re right. No one has to die, except the one who came here bearing death. He brings death wherever he goes, he _is_ Death.”

“Are you willing to risk everything you worked for, just to kill him?”

“It will be seen as self defense – which indeed, it is.”

“Not if you torture him, as you suggested to me. You’ll ruin everything you sacrificed so much to achieve. Your child will be taken from you-”

“Don’t you dare bring Morgan into this! What’s the alternative then, let Hannibal kill us all?”

“He doesn’t want to kill all of you, just your wife.”

“Oh, I guess that’s alright then!” Margot answered, sarcastically.

“Where _is_ Alana?”

“None of your business,” Margot snapped.

“Please. Is she here? Is she alright? Tell me how you caught Hannibal.”

Margot looked at him coldly, then answered, mechanically:

“He came in through the window of our library. He must have thought he was safe because the lights were off in that room, but I was there. I sometimes like to sit there in the dark. It’s peaceful and quiet and it calms my nerves. So I saw him before he saw me. I pushed the alarm button and ran out. We have alarm buttons installed all through the house. Marc and Robert came up and shot Hannibal, then tied him up. It was over quite quickly.”

“Shot him?”

“Relax. One bullet in the shoulder, the other barely grazed his temple. He’ll live. I imagine he’s in pain but he fully deserves it.”

“Yes, he does”, Will acquiesced. “And Alana?”

“Alana’s not here. On Monday and Thursday afternoons she volunteers at the children’s hospital and she’s usually quite late.”

She crossed her arms around Morgan’s back and twiddled her fingers, looking at Will expectantly.

“So Hannibal did not see Alana…”, Will pondered to himself.

“You have ten minutes, before I reach for my cell phone and call the police. I decided to take your advice and not kill Hannibal. I’ll be the model citizen and have Hannibal arrested. And you, as well. You did kill a man just now.”

“He did?” Morgan gasped.

“Shh, baby. You shouldn’t be hearing these things”, Margot said, distressed, covering his ears.

“Geez, mom, get off me”, he complained.

“Having Hannibal arrested won’t save you”, Will said. “You know he’ll come after you eventually. Better to end it now. Settle the score.”

“I can kill him now.”

“You won’t. I’ll kill you first. Please don’t test my resolve on this.”

“Oh God,” Margot wheezed, pressing her hands tighter over Morgan’s ears.

“Now, will you listen to me? Alana has one shot at surviving this, and there are no guarantees that it will work.”

“Tell me.”

“Hannibal wants to make Alana an honour kill – she has to die because she slighted him, plotted against him, wanted to destroy him. He wants to make her suffer before he kills her. We have to give him what he wants at least partly.”

“What?!”

“Hannibal must be appeased that justice has been served, and Alana _is_ suffering, by the irony of God, if not by his hand. We must make it seem as if death will deliver her from suffering, not ensure it.”

“Are you suggesting I torture my wife?” Margot’s voice raised incredulously.

“No”, Will replied, annoyed that she could think he’d be suggesting that. “The easiest to fake would be a chronic illness. But Hannibal can smell them.”

“He can what?” Margot gasped, half outraged, half impressed.

“Yes”, Will confirmed distractedly. “He can smell illnesses, like encephalitis or cancer. At least these two I know for sure he can.”

“I feel guilty for thinking of killing a man of his capabilities”, Margot replied, sarcastically. “So, what do you suggest?”

“We’ll have to fake it as realistically as we can. You’ll go to the hospital where Alana is, explain the situation to her and have her put in a drug-induced coma, right away. The doctors will probably need a lot of persuasion, but I’m sure it won’t be above your means. You’ll also have to pay the doctors and nurses to corroborate your story that she’s been like this since a car accident months back and chances of recovery are slim. Get them to fake test results, if possible. You bought an entire police department once to ensure Hannibal’s capture. Now you’ll have to buy an entire hospital to escape him. A much worthier feat.”

“This - you do know this is dangerous, right? An induced coma, I mean.”

“Not as dangerous as what might happen to her otherwise. Besides, I’m hoping it won’t have to be for long and Hannibal will not wish to linger. The prospect of killing someone who’s already in a coma will appear too impersonal and unsatisfying to him.”

“How can I be sure he’ll be fooled? Or that he won’t return at some point to try again?”

“You can’t”, Will said. “But it’s the best way I can think of right now, and nobody knows him as well as I do.”

“What will you do while I’m away?”

“I’ll stay here, with Morgan.”

Margot started to shake her head, but Will cut in:

“No. This is not negotiable. I still don’t trust you, nor the men outside. Morgan remains with me as leverage until I’m sure you won’t hurt me – or Hannibal. Before you go to Alana, be sure to tell your men plainly that Hannibal is not to be touched. When you get everything done and Alana has been put under, come back here, and I’ll tell you what we do next.”

Margot nodded to herself, then studied Will for a while, eyes narrowed, while she considered this.

“This is insane”, she murmured. “You want to protect the man who wants to kill my wife.”

“I also want to protect your wife.”

“Only God knows why I’m trusting you.”

“You have no choice”, Will insisted. “And I’ve never harmed you. We’re survivors, Margot.”

She shook her head.

“What _happened_ to you, Will?”

“Hannibal happened”, Will answered simply.

“What is he to you?”

“Everything”, he answered.

“God”, she repeated, shivering. She kissed Morgan on the top of his head and set him down on the couch, then stood up, resolutely.

“I’ll do it”, she sighed. “There is of course, the small matter of Alana agreeing to it, but I’ll tell her what you told me. She knows Hannibal well, and she’s still haunted by him, so I think she’ll agree to anything to put an end to the nightmares.”

“Good. Go then. Hurry.”

Margot shut her eyes briefly, then opened them resolutely, and made to leave.

“Margot”, Will called after her. “If Alana agrees, and it all works out, then I won’t get to talk to her again. Give her my best. Tell her I’m happy.”

“I doubt she’ll believe it,” Margot said under her breath, as she reached the door, but Will still heard her.


	10. Chapter 10

Will blocked the door again after Margot left and heaved a sigh of relief as he heard her instruct the shooters to guard the door and do nothing else until she returned. Will tried to imagine Margot’s meeting with Alana, their conversation – how would it go? Would they be crying? Comforting each other? Or would they be coldly calculating? Would Alana accept his idea, or would she have ideas of her own? He could imagine anything, starting with Alana wanting to do this the right way, go to the police, maybe even try to contact Jack (good luck with that), and ending with Alana and Margot hunting Hannibal and himself across the Swiss countryside. He wondered if Alana would be surprised at finding where his new loyalties lay, and then he wondered about Alana in general, if she was happy here and if her conscience was appeased by volunteer work enough to erase past misdeeds. The memory he had of her was vague, vaguer still was the memory of his affection for her. He remembered Hannibal’s words to the delivery man and snorted quietly. Swept apart by the waves of life indeed. Without his conscious intention, his mind split the story of his existence into a hazy chunk named ‘before Hannibal’ and ordered neatly the more recent years into ‘back when I thought Hannibal was not interesting’, ‘the time when I thought Hannibal was my way out of dark places’, ‘when I finally knew Hannibal was the dark place itself’, ‘when I was lying to Hannibal’, ‘when I was lying to myself about Hannibal’. Other people flitted in and out of his life during these times, leaving no significant impact, although he was occasionally sorry to see them go. In retrospect, ‘fostering codependency’ was a lenient way of describing what Hannibal was doing to Will. Hannibal simply destroyed the palaces of all other gods, humans and monsters and aired the corners of Will’s mind with a livid atmosphere of his own making. Sometimes, when Will thought about Hannibal too hard, he could feel himself still falling into dark waters, perversely giddy in anticipation of hitting the bottom of the ocean. But this was not a good time for indulging. He needed to be as far away from Hannibal’s mindset as possible.

He returned to the couch and slumped down on it, running a hand over his face. He looked around aimlessly, out of his element in his surroundings. Margot and Alana’s house had personality and liveliness. It was not difficult to imagine the life they led here, a happy life, barring the shadows of the past which still darkened their memory and made them fearful of the future. Alarm buttons…clever. He felt perversely vindicated that he was right in telling Hannibal that throwing himself head-first into an unknown situation would lead to his capture. Reckless, uncharacteristically reckless of him. But then again, Hannibal had as much reason to feel vindicated, because he told Will he was likely to kill again – and so he did: impersonally, with a gun, but in cold-blood, without a flicker of hesitance or remorse. He could have brought the man down and not killed him, but something desperate in Will had made him go straight for the kill. Luckily, Margot’s bodyguards were not like Will – they shot at Hannibal but did not kill him. Cold doubt suddenly coiled its icy tendrils over Will’s heart – _what if they did kill Hannibal_? Could Margot have been lying? Will drew in a shaky breath and forced himself to think rationally. Why would Margot lie about this, she had no reason to. Unless – unless she believed a Will without Hannibal was likely to turn _into_ Hannibal, and she had as much to fear from such a Will as from Hannibal himself. In which case, right now she’d be off to the police, instead of where he had told her to go. Will swallowed heavily – if Hannibal was dead, then there’d be hell to pay. ‘How dare they – no one, _no one_ gets to him but me’. A twisted smile warped his face, but he wasn’t conscious of it until Morgan spoke:

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not smiling”, Will murmured. “I’m wincing.”

“Why?”

“Your couch is uncomfortable. I’ve got a cramp.”

“My couch is awesome!” Morgan protested, shrilly. “You’re weird. You’re a bad, weird man.”

Will did not disprove that.

“You said you’ll give me your gun,” Morgan drawled.

Will could sense his annoyance bubbling just beneath the surface, the short temper of a child used to getting his way everytime.

“Yes,” he answered.

Morgan reached for it, enthusiastically.

“Not yet,” Will countered, moving it out of his reach.

Morgan scowled and stamped his foot.

“Liar! Bad, weird, liar!”

“Morgan, I promise”, Will said, looking at the gun seriously, “if I’m alive, and free, at this time tomorrow, then this gun is yours. It’s a promise - and me and my friend, we always keep our promises.”

“Who’s your friend?” Morgan challenged.

“Another bad, weird, liar”, Will answered with a smile.

Then he frowned slightly, remembering the conversation with the delivery man.

“Have you ever told a lie, Morgan?” he asked.

“Nope”, came the answer.

“I’m sorry about your dog.”

“He foamed at the mouth and bit Marie’s leg. He tugged and tugged at it until the flesh just got unzipped, like I unzip a cardigan. Except with blood. Lots of blood. The stones in the yard will need a lot of washing to clear the blood, mommy said. But Marie can’t do it now. They shot Tintin. It still moved a bit after they shot him. Moved his head fast like this”, Morgan demonstrated, “and crawled on the ground, but then he stopped. I suppose something happened when he stopped, didn’t it? Do you know what happened?”

Will felt his blood run cold as he listened to the account. He could understand why the delivery man’s son had bad dreams. There was a sort of relish to Morgan’s delivery which he found indecent.

“Do you?” Morgan insisted.

“What?” Will asked, confused.

“Do you know what happened when he stopped moving!” Morgan shouted, impatiently. “You killed someone, mommy said. What happened when _he_ stopped moving?”

“I- I don’t know”, Will replied, stricken.

“No one wants to tell me,” Morgan pouted and stamped his foot. “I know something extraordinary happens, but everyone’s keeping it from me!”

“Morgan”, Will said quietly, “no one’s keeping it from you. They just don’t know. _We,_ humans, despite how clever we are and how much we’ve discovered, still don’t know what happens when we – stop. Not with any certainty. This is why, life is precious. This is the most important thing to remember, Morgan, that life is something to preserve.”

“What means to preserve?” Morgan frowned.

“To keep, to protect, to defend. Not to take, or endanger.”

“Why?”

Will sighed. He wasn’t good at this. Not with Morgan.

“Were you sad that Tintin died?” he asked, by way of answer. But he could already tell Morgan wasn’t.

“My stomach did backflips,” the child answered.

“You were scared?”

“I don’t know. It was like going to school for the first time and wondering what it will be like.”

Will didn’t like the vibe he was getting from Morgan, at all. It was like drowning in something cold and slimy. He stood up from the couch and moved around the room, trying to shake off the feeling. Morgan followed him with his eyes.

“Are you going to kill anyone else today?”

“No.”

“Maybe someone will kill you.”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’ll get your gun anyway.”

A sharp knock came on the door. Will jumped and grabbed Morgan, dragging him along to hide behind the couch. Margot couldn’t be back so soon. Then it crossed his mind that in any event she wouldn’t be _politely_ _knocking,_ until he heard an unmistakable voice:

“Will?”

“Hannibal?” Will’s voice raised in disbelief, and he was immediately at the door pushing the dresser back. “How did you escape? Margot said you were shot.”

“And I still am”, came Hannibal’s voice, and he came inside, but with his arms bound behind him, propelled along by one of the shooters who held his right arm in a tight grip and a gun to his head. For a second, Will was too stunned to react, although he should have been able to see this coming. He lost precious seconds, hesitating between going after Morgan, to use him as leverage, and attempting to shoot at the man holding Hannibal. Meanwhile the other shooter entered the room, placing himself in front of Morgan, gun trained on Will.

“Put the gun down”, he addressed Will. “Whatever you do, you’re dead, and so’s your friend. You can get a few shots out, but you’ll be brought down regardless. Be a clever boy and put the gun down right away.”

Will caught Hannibal’s eye. He appeared calm, his eyes clear and alive with interest. He watched Will steadily. Blood trickled from his temple and down his right cheek, but the wound did not appear deep. His shirt was half torn, exposing his shoulder wound, which looked ugly and raw but appeared to have stopped bleeding. Despite their predicament, Will couldn’t help but feel relief.

However, the situation they were in did not warrant any further optimism. Will’s shoulders sagged in defeat. He lowered the gun but did not drop it.

“I have talked to Margot”, he addressed the man on his right. We have reached an understanding. I was just waiting for her to get back. Please, don’t do anything without her knowledge. She won’t like it.”

“Oh, okay, _she_ won’t like it. You wanna know what _I_ don’t like? Having my mate shot dead and then my employer sitting down to reach an understanding with the guy who shot him. That’s what I find really difficult to like, don’t you, Robert?”

The man behind Hannibal nodded.

“You see, we could’ve shot your friend dead. We still can.”

“I guess what we’re trying to say, is that we really don’t care about any understanding you have with Ms. Verger, and that we’re gonna make you squeal like a pig.”

“Are you gonna kill him?” Morgan asked, eyes wide with excitement.

“Marc, take Morgan out of here”, the man at the door said, and pushed Hannibal further inside the room, leaving the doorway clear.

“No!” Morgan protested.

“Come on, you”, Marc said, impatiently, and grabbed Morgan’s shoulders, who kicked and screamed:

“I want his gun! Give me his gun, he promised it to me!”

Marc swore in German as he struggled with Morgan, who was surprisingly resilient for a five year old. He was forced to put the gun in his pocket as he tackled Morgan with two hands.

Will caught Hannibal’s eye again, who nodded minutely. They moved fast and at precisely the same time – Hannibal slammed his body back into Robert, who was driven into the wall hard, the breath knocked out of him – Will lunged at Marc and brought the butt of his gun heavily over his head, knocking him down - Hannibal slid from Robert’s momentary lax grip and slithered out the door - Will followed him, firing a few warning shots in the air before he ran out of the room.

They hurried towards the main door – Will hurriedly untying Hannibal’s hands; behind, raised voices and shots ringing out signaled that the chase was on.

They were almost near the exit, when Hannibal pulled Will back against a crevice, just as their pursuers turned a corner.

“What are you doing?” Will demanded in an angry whisper. “We were so close.”

“We’ll never be able to outrun them outdoors”, Hannibal whispered back, peering between two loose stones at the shooters. “They know the area better than we do, and there’s nowhere to hide. They’d shoot us dead.”

“So what do we do?”

“We stay here.”

“They’ll find us!”

“And when they do –“, Hannibal took a knife out of his pocket and placed it in Will’s hand. “By the way, congratulations on your excellent shot. I saw the body at the door. I know it wasn’t what you’d hoped, it was rather impersonal.” He pressed the knife into Will’s unresponsive palm harder. “Next time, use this.”

“They have _guns_ , Hannibal. This is not the time for your games.”

“Are you afraid, Will? Fear is good. Gets blood pumping. It’s not a game, dear love. It’s a problem. Remember what I told you all those years ago? Problem solving is hunting-“

“A savage pleasure that we both can share”, Will completed the train of thought automatically. Of course he remembered. It was during the ‘when I was lying to Hannibal’- time, fraught with remorse and repressed longing for the man he had set out to lure, and it had worked, oh did it ever work – Hannibal was finally showing Will his true self, dazzling him with his contrasting hues. Those were strange times, Will reflected. As were these. His hand closed over the proffered knife. Hannibal kissed the top of his head and smoothed Will’s unruly hair with his fingers, in a gesture both tender and familiar.

Will closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, he was face to face with Marc and Robert. He saw as if in slow motion as they raised their guns - time had stopped - and he saw himself lift the knife and smoothly slit the nearest throat; felt more than saw, in the corner of his eye, Hannibal do the same to the other.

Blood spilled. It gushed from the carotid arteries, spraying Will’s face and chest like a baptism. He inhaled the coppery smell deeply. Time stuttered and then resumed its normal pace.

“Will”, Hannibal growled next to him.

He turned, and stared. Hannibal looked larger than life, similarly drenched in blood, lean and savage like an unrepentant beast, never remiss, always deadly. Will had a strong feeling of déjà vu, but it was just his mind revisiting the vivid impression of the Hannibal in his dream, superimposed on the real Hannibal. It felt as if he was still dreaming. He didn’t know what to do. He dimly figured they should probably _run,_ but he felt rooted to the spot. Hannibal wasn’t faring any better – his gaze, pupils blown with greedy arousal, was busy taking Will in. Select, cut, save to memory palace. The chance may not come again so soon. Hannibal took a step forward, until he was pressing Will against the wall. Will was expecting to be kissed, but instead Hannibal tightened his arms around him to the point of pain and, nose pressed to the side of his neck, proceeded to breathe him in - deeply, ravenously. Will’s entire body was racked with an involuntary shudder at the treatment. He forced himself still, allowing this, but the moment dragged on, as Hannibal seemed content to keep on nuzzling his neck and sniff him thoroughly. Will endured this for a beat more, but at last, Hannibal’s serious concentration and the absurdity of his behaviour in these circumstances made him burst inelegantly into laughter. Hannibal pulled back, but Will still couldn’t stop. He sank to the floor while tears ran down his face, as his guffaws eventually faded to helpless sobs.

“Are you alright?” Hannibal asked him, guardedly.

Will finally trusted himself to speak:

“Let’s get out of here.”

Hannibal cast one doubtful look towards the exit and another back inside the house. Will held his breath.

“I haven’t finished what I came here to do”, Hannibal answered.

Will narrowed his eyes at him.

“Alana is very manifestly not here. Neither is Margot. We have killed three people. And we have several witnesses who have seen us, including a five year old child. You may act all unruffled, Hannibal, but I don’t think you have ever been in a more compromising situation.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Will”, Hannibal smiled. “Have you spoken to Margot?”

“No”, Will lied.

“Any idea where she went?” Hannibal persisted, with a slight eyebrow raise.

“No,” Will repeated.

“You’re a bad liar. Do you know what I’m gonna do to y-“

“He’s a _bad_ , _weird,_ liar!” came Morgan’s shrill voice.

He had sneaked up behind Hannibal, which in itself was quite a feat. Will had the brief satisfaction of seeing Hannibal momentarily startled, but he quickly regained his bearings.

“Yes, he is, Morgan”, he said with a cold smile. “But not as weird as I am.”

Morgan considered him. They mirrored each other’s reptilian look.

“It’s fine to be weird”, Hannibal continued. “I told your mother the same thing once. She took my words to heart.” Hannibal stepped lightly over the two dead bodies and extended his hand to the child. “Shall we?”

“Where?” Morgan asked, suspiciously.

“Outside, for a walk.”

Morgan hesitated, looking at the two dead men.

“I want to see….”

“What is there to see now, Morgan? They’re just empty shells. They are simply dead, lying where they landed. Had I but time…I could show you how they are transformed, by death, into something beautiful.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes.”

“Can you teach me?”

Will rolled his eyes, off Hannibal’s amused look. He really disliked the brat intensely.

Hannibal smirked at Will, enjoying his vexation, then stepped towards the door and opened it widely. He took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air and quoted, a musical lilt to his voice:

“I managed to erase all human hope from my mind. I made the wild beast’s silent leap to strangle every joy. I summoned executioners to bite their gun-butts as I died. I summoned plagues, to stifle myself with sand and blood. Misfortune was my god. I stretched out in the mud. I dried myself in the breezes of crime. And I played some fine tricks on madness.”

He stepped outside. Will and Morgan followed.

“Baudelaire?” Will guessed.

“Rimbaud.”

“Ah.”

“Awesome”, Morgan said.

“You didn’t understand a word of it.”

“I did!” Morgan shrieked. “All the words! They smelled like tar and rotten apples and the wine mom loves to drink and the school basement when it rains.”

He capered around them moving his arms and legs haphazardly.

“You’re an unusually clever boy, Morgan”, Hannibal smiled.

Will shot Hannibal a warning look. Morgan preened under the compliment.

“I know I am. That’s what mom and mommy always say. I’m too clever for this place. I get bored.”

“I’m sure you do”, Hannibal nodded, seriously. “I get bored sometimes, too.”

“And what do you do about it?”

“I kill people,” Hannibal answered candidly.

Will stared. Morgan gaped at Hannibal in awe.

“So what do _you_ do about it, Morgan?” Hannibal continued, unperturbed.

“I – I-“ Morgan took a deep breath and the word got stuck in his throat.

Will could tell that he wanted to share so much, but he had been well-taught that it was wrong, enough to be apprehensive about it.

They had reached the treeline where Will and Hannibal had first stopped to survey the house, and Hannibal paused.

“Will”, Hannibal addressed him. “Go on around the bend, see if Margot’s not coming. We need to spot her before she spots us.”

Will glared at Hannibal, then down at Morgan, but said nothing, and plodded along down the road, leaving them behind. He understood Hannibal’s game or hoped he did. Will couldn’t bond with Morgan, yet Hannibal seemed able to, and he would be much more likely to confess if Will wasn’t around. At the same time, he could tell Hannibal genuinely appreciated the little monster, and he hoped he wouldn’t want to adopt him after he killed his mothers. One never knew with Hannibal.

A car appeared in the distance. He hoped it was Margot, coming with good news, because on his end it was all bad. As the car got closer, he saw that it was indeed Margot who was driving the car, but in the passenger seat, unmistakable even with blonde hair, sat Alana. Will’s shoulder slumped. He remained standing, marginally curious but exhaustion and utter defeat making him remote from the situation. The car pulled to a stop and Margot stepped out first, followed by Alana.

“Will!” she shouted, running towards him.

Hannibal was not so far, there was no way in hell he wouldn’t hear her.

“Where is Morgan?” Margot demanded.  

“Oh, around”, Will answered. He’s with Hannibal.”

“Oh my god!”

“And your bodyguards or whatever they were, are dead. This is your fault, by the way. You should have picked your men better. They put Morgan in danger, they came inside the room against your orders, wanting to torture me for killing their friend. What is she doing here, Margot?” Will said, pointing at Alana, still resolutely refusing to acknowledge her greeting. “This wasn’t our understanding.”

Margot glanced at Alana briefly, then she spoke defiantly:

“Alana refused to go through with it. What’s more, she made me see sense”, Margot said. “I was scared about Morgan, but she reassured me that you don’t have it in you to kill a child or use him as a bullet shield. And she convinced me that killing Hannibal would be the best thing to do.”

“Followed by killing me, I presume?”

“Will, we weren’t going to kill you,” Alana intervened.

“You’re so wrong about me, Alana – so wrong.”

“Who is right, then? Hannibal?”

“Alana, you have a gift – for being wrong – you’re wrong all the time! For all the right reasons, yet you’re always, _always,_ so goddamn wrong! It’s so funny, when you think about it, isn’t it?”

Will could feel another hysterical bout of laughter coming on and fought to stifle it.

“There is no way out of this, Will – not this time. It’s over.”

“Oh, what’s to be done about _that_?” Will replied sarcastically.

“Hello, Alana”, came Hannibal’s voice behind him, breezy and social like they were at a dinner party. “It’s so good to see you. You look well.”

Alana’s look was steel.

“Please let’s skip the pleasantries and get down to the gutting. I’ll go first.”

She took a gun out of her pocket and pointed it at him.

“This one has bullets”, she said with a bitter smile.

Will pulled out his own gun.

“So does this one. I’ll shatter your elbows, Alana. First your right, then your left. You’ll be an invalid – and you won’t even have managed to get a bullet out.”

“I’ll just have to _try_ ”, Alana said, grating her teeth.

“Al- baby”, Margot tried, placing a hand on her tense arm.

“If I had a gun too, we’d have ourselves a truel”, Hannibal remarked. “Allow me to end our dilemma. Alana, I came here with the intention to destroy you. But now there is no time for the fate I had planned for you, and more so, complications have arisen.”

“By ‘complications’, I assume you mean the three men you killed.”

“Yes. I am not worried about you killing me – but if you do decide to share with the police, I will be obliged to divulge the story which Morgan recounted to me just now. By the look on your face I see that you know or suspect what the story might be. Thank you. Saves me the trouble of recounting it.”

“I don’t know what he told you, but children lie. In fact, at that age, children have a great propensity for mingling truth with lies quite randomly, for no apparent purpose.”

“Oh, I know they do. However, I don’t believe that this is such a case. You know this is not such a case, Alana – motherhood may have blinded you but you’re still a professional. Have a care.”

Alana’s gun trembled in her hand. Will took his chance and resolutely stepped in – with a harsh movement, he yanked it out of her hand, after a brief struggle.

“Well”, Margot put in. And then louder: “Morgan! Morgan baby, where are you?”

No answer, and Margot looked at Hannibal sharply.

“He’s probably inside the house, poking the dead bodies. He’s fascinated with death. It’s funny – it’s the moment of death that fascinated him – the slip from existence to nonexistence. His life will be spent in an attempt to witness it, or recreate it.”

“How can you know this? He’s just a child!” Margot protested.

“Hannibal is right”, Will put in. “I would be very careful if I were you.”

“Anyone can be changed, with the right education”, Alana said, coldly. “Morgan will not go down your road, Hannibal. I’ll make sure of it. You may have Will, but you’re not getting my son.”

She stopped abruptly, noticing the boy was approaching down the path from the house.

“Morgan, come here”, Will called.

He unloaded his gun and placed it in the boy’s hands.

“What are you doing?” Margot stuttered.

“I promised to give him my gun. Notice that I unloaded the bullets.”

“How thoughtful of you! He has no business with a gun, he’s five.”

Will shrugged.

“Take it from him, then. I wanted to keep my promise.”

He turned, exhausted, and set off on the road at a slow pace, without another look or a word. He could hear Hannibal behind him saying goodbye for the both of them, ever so polite.

“Goodbye, Alana. We are leaving you in good hands. Margot. So lovely to have seen you again.”

He could practically see Hannibal’s smile. He kept on walking, uncaring. They could shoot him in the back at this point and he wouldn’t care. He felt drained and purposeless.

Hannibal caught up with him and fell into step beside him. He seemed to sense Will’s mood and for a while he did not speak. When he did at last, his tone was conciliatory:

“You were right, Will”, he said. “I should have planned better.”

It had started to rain. They still had a long way to go until they reached the village. Hannibal sniffed quietly. He was cold, no doubt, in his half-torn bloodstained shirt. Will stopped.

“Let me have a look at that”, he said, pointing to Hannibal’s shoulder.

Hannibal stopped as well, and watched as Will gently touched the area around the bullet wound.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not more than I can bear.”

Will tore a piece of his undershirt for a makeshift bandage.

“You’ll have to wait until I can take care of it properly.”

“I know.”

“Probably not until we get home.”

“Most likely. Unless we have some time between connecting flights and we make unorthodox use of one of the airport bathrooms.”

“We could do that.”

“I’d rather we didn’t.”

“Oh?”

“I deeply regret getting a dog, Will. I knew it would be a nuisance and a nuisance it is. It’s been more than 30 hours since we left him.”

“He’s got food. Wait, Hannibal – is that the real reason you refrained from killing Alana, because it would delay us here even more and you were worried Lito was staying alone too long?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Will”, Hannibal scoffed, but he looked pleased at the change in Will’s mood.

Will finished tying the makeshift bandage around the wound. It was a clumsy job, but it would have to do for now. He took off his jacket and sweater and pulled the sweater over Hannibal’s head, then carefully over his arms, taking care of his injured shoulder. Hannibal didn’t protest. The sweater was tight on him and not the kind of clothing he usually favoured, but he accepted it without comment, and Will’s spirits lifted further. He put his jacket back on and inspected the head wound next. The rain had cleared most of the blood away, and Will wiped the rest with a handkerchief. Once the dried blood was cleaned, he saw the graze was nothing a band aid couldn’t cover. He finished his examination with a few perfunctory touches to Hannibal’s hair and smoothed down the fabric of his sweater over Hannibal’s chest.

Hannibal grabbed Will’s hand as it slid off and placed a quick kiss to his wrist.

They set off again down the road, in a more companionable silence than when they started.

“They have seen you now”, Will spoke after a while, sadly. His voice was ragged with cold. It was still raining, but the village loomed into view. “There is no safe place in the world for us. Jack may be dead, but I know of at least one person at the FBI who will make it their personal mission to hunt us down.”

“Let them”, Hannibal answered. “Let them try. As for Alana and Margot, they will not try anything. They know their continued existence is a gift, one that can be taken away just as fast as it was given, and death and heartbreak can be dealt in turn.”

“You regret that I am not like Morgan, don’t you?” Will asked abruptly.

“I regret nothing when it comes to you, Will.”

Will laughed self-deprecatingly.

“You regret not having a child like Morgan, then.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“Soon I’d have nothing to teach him. And sooner than that, I’d have lost the ability to surprise him, and he would lose the ability to surprise me. We’d sit and brood over our separate visions, both lonely in each other’s presence.”

“Whereas you and I -?”

“We’re conjoined, are we not? My jagged pieces and your jagged pieces cut and bruise but somehow fit together.”

“A fine definition of love”, Will murmured. “And that reminds me: You might be dead now if you hadn’t taken me along, Hannibal. Make me one promise now, since you’re so intent on keeping your promises: Never hide anything from me again.”

Hannibal squinted at Will among the raindrops falling haphazardly down his face.

“If you promise not to hide anything from me”, he said, and it was both a threat and a promise.

“If we’re indeed conjoined”, Will continued, “then it’s together, or not at all.”

The specks of red in Hannibal's maroon eyes fixed on Will with a warm glow. He nodded, gently focused on Will, like he had been on that cliff in the wake of Dolarhyde’s death.

“Together”, he confirmed, and Will shuddered with dread and longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I really wanted to fit into this chapter the sentence 'Alana leaned down and scratched Applesauce behind the ears.' :)) But in the end, I decided to forget about the entire scene because it didn't seem to fit. So Applesauce has stayed back in Baltimore and she's found new owners who have no dealings with cannibals :)
> 
> This chapter has a (short) line stolen from The X Files and another v short (but meaningful) line, stolen from Doctor Who - I think this one will be obvious :d


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I removed the Dark Will tag because it seemed a bit misleading. Will in this fic is more conflicted and ambivalent than dark (imo).

Will somehow expected the worst when they finally reached their home in Suvereto. He had spent the entire plane flight mulling over horrific scenarios: the red and blue flickering lights of the police cars already waiting for them as they arrived, the house ransacked, Lito enraged by loneliness and hunger enough to get himself shot, like Morgan’s dog. But the house was silent and still as they finally arrived, on the third night since they had left. Lito pit-patted to meet them, a bit aloof at first, shrinking from Will’s enthusiastic hugs, but finally relented and licked at his fingers, tail wagging tentatively. Will quickly started preparing fresh food for him, after he threw away the bits of dry food he still had left in his bowl. At least he hadn’t starved, although he must have felt their absence like a punishment. Will could sense dogs’ moods as well as he could sense humans’ and he could tell Lito was meekly apprehensive, not knowing what he had done wrong.

He talked to him on an even tone and refilled his water bowl as the stew was cooking.

As he gave him the food, he patted his head, reassuring him gently:

“You haven’t done anything wrong, boy. We’re sorry to have left you like this.”

Hannibal appeared in the doorway, and they both watched Lito as he enthusiastically gulped the fresh meat.

“Morgan’s treatment of his dog was upsetting to you”, he observed.

Will snorted.

“Understatement.”

“I found it vulgar”, Hannibal commented. “He went about achieving his goal in a roundabout way, although I must admire the intricacy of the orchestration, particularly at such a young age. But I fear he will never go far if he’s afraid to get his hands dirty.”

“Oh, right”, Will said, sarcastically. “Yeah, that is indeed the primary concern.”

“No. The choice of victim was, too. One should never turn against one’s own, at least not without good reason. The dog was his own. It shows a callousness that I find distasteful.”

“What would you have considered a good reason?” Will challenged.

“Difficult to say”, Hannibal pondered, watching Lito, who was licking the bowl clean.

“Does rudeness as a motive for killing apply to animals as well?”

Hannibal smiled slightly.

“Actually, I find it does not. Trailing mud on the couch would be considered a mortal offense if a human had done it, but with Lito, I find I am going soft.”

“Or maybe you’re afraid of what I would do to you if you were to gut Lito for trailing mud in,” Will suggested, only half-jokingly.

“Maybe”, Hannibal conceded.

“You’ve let me get away with a lot of rudeness too”, Will pointed out.

“Funny you should mention it. I always thought your rudeness was a defense mechanism – if you glanced at my notes on you before burning them, you’d have seen I made a note of it – you were prickly and abrasive and ready to take flight like a wild animal who’s resentful of territory encroachment. I had to reel you in and slowly weave a web around you, which you’d gradually become inured to, and in time, come to miss it, crave it even.”

“Funny _you_ should mention weaving a web. I could never shake off the feeling that I was stepping into the parlour of a spider, whenever I came to your house for dinner.”

“Oh, but you were.  _It’s the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy_ ,” Hannibal quoted, playfully. “ _The way into my parlour is up a winding stair. And I’ve a many curious things to show when you are there_.”

Will laughed, charmed despite himself, at Hannibal’s whimsical display.

“Wow, you’re an expert in children’s poems as you are in….everything, really. Very appropriate, too.”

“A good psychiatrist must strive to be familiar with all aspects of the human nature.”

“You _were_ a good psychiatrist, if for the wrong reasons.”

“I’d say it was for the best reasons.”

Lito gulped his water down noisily and then stepped back with a satisfied sigh. He nosed at Will and Hannibal in a more friendly manner. Will tugged at his floppy ears affectionately.

“Let’s go for a walk, the three of us”, he suggested.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“So what? Are you afraid of the dark?”

Hannibal was not amused.

“It is chilly and it would be inconvenient,” he complained.

“It wasn’t that inconvenient when you used the nights to stalk and murder your victims.”

“That was for a purpose.”

“This has a purpose, too.”

“Which is?”

“I just feel like it.”

“Childish”, Hannibal commented, but went to take his coat.

~

They were making their way along the forest path, at leisure, with Lito running ahead and then back to them, tongue lolling out and panting enthusiastically. The air was crisp and fresh but not too cold, scented with the memory of rain.

“This is pleasant”, Hannibal acquiesced.

Will smiled.

“If we had gone to visit Margot and Alana like _normal_ people, instead of plotting a grisly death, and ending up trying to avoid our own – we could have spent some time enjoying the scenery. It was breathtaking.”

Hannibal gazed straight ahead with a thoughtful expression.

“When Margot and Alana came out of the car to meet you, before I came up, you told Margot ‘This wasn’t our understanding’. What did you mean by that?”

Will didn’t answer.

“Will.”

Hannibal must be the only person in the history of the universe able to infuse a simple given name with so many goddamn nuances. Right now there was impatience, the hint of temper, more than a little warning, and just a smidgen of pleading – and to top it all off, for the final taste – a layer of pure curiosity. No one else could achieve this, surely – or maybe it was Will who was uncommonly receptive to all of Hannibal’s nuances.

“Yes, I tried to stop you from killing Alana – nothing you didn’t already know or suspect, and nothing I didn’t warn you about beforehand, for that matter.“

“Specifics, Will. I would like to know exactly what you had planned with Margot. Were the police on their way? Did you try to have Alana removed to a safe location? Out of the country? Did you strike a deal? A trade of some sort?”

“I just wanted everybody to live”, Will said, helplessly.

“Will, tell me”, Hannibal insisted.

“I don’t want to. I’m afraid.”

“Of me?”

“Not that you’ll hurt me. I’m afraid of how you’ll react, and that it would break this fragile thing we have between us. I’m afraid to lose you, Hannibal”, he admitted in a small voice.

He felt, rather than saw, Hannibal turning to him in the darkness.

“I will never leave you. I’d sooner kill you”, he said seriously, and _that_ shouldn’t have sounded reassuring to Will, but it did. It mingled the sweet promise of death with the sweeter promise of never being alone.

Will reached out and blindly traced the sharp contours of Hannibal’s face which melded with the surrounding night. He then followed the path of his fingers with a slow drag of his lips, satisfied upon hearing Hannibal’s ragged breathing. It was quiet around them save for the distant noise of Lito shuffling through some leaves, and the air seemed charged with mysteries and power. Will felt like they were absent gods returning to a world who still remembered them.

He whispered his plan of saving Alana into Hannibal’s ear, and soothed the confession with meek and gentle kisses.

But the serene magic of the moment was broken as he felt Hannibal tense against him and pull back slightly.

“You were going to trick me like this?” Hannibal asked, flatly, but with the lingering promise of a threat.

“I hoped to – distract you.”

“ _Distract_ me?”

“Manage you. I told you – I feel responsible – for you, for the things you do – I can’t…”

“It was very clever, Will. But then again I have had sufficient proof of your intelligence, and of how well you know me. But will the rest of your life be spent trying to deny me? Remember, you made me a promise.”

“As have you. We promised not to leave each other. I didn’t promise to indulge in your pastimes, nor you to forgo them.”

“Will, I must confess that your turn of the century morality is beginning to infuriate me. You’re like a maid who clutches her skirts whenever a man passes her by, because her mother has taught her men are not to be trusted.”

“You have a penchance for twisting words, that comparison is in no way relevant for what we’re discussing.”

“It is. Her resistance is just as frustrating as yours – and just as futile.”

“Are you saying that I’m doomed?”

“I’m saying that you will eventually be enlightened.”

“Please don’t throw religious metaphors into the mix with sexual ones.”

“Why, does your Catholic upbringing revolt at the association?”, Hannibal smirked. “And Will – there is one more relevant similarity between you and our hypothetical virgin: if only she’d give in – well, she’d enjoy it so much. She’s missing out on one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

“Are you referring to sex now, or to murder? Just so I’m clear.”

“I’m saying that it’s acceptance of our sensual natures which frees us, and gives life meaning and colour, and joy – whether it’s to make love, enjoy a fine meal, create, be elevated – _elevate others_ -“

“By killing them?”

“If all else fails, yes. Without beauty in our lives, we are as good as dead. And some people best serve us cold – or sautéed in a fine wine. I would rather live fully – and I would have you live with me, just as fully.”

Will shook his head, both chagrined and entranced by Hannibal’s words.

Hannibal pressed on.

“Will, listen to me. Let me be brutally honest with you – for once I will not coat my words in metaphors and double entendres. We are not like the others. We are a breed apart. The only difference between me and you is that I’ve accepted it, and you haven’t.”

“I’ve never considered myself different than anyone else”, Will argued, defensively.

Hannibal considered this transparent lie with a smirk.

“Even if you haven’t, everyone else around you did. Even the people you tried to get close to – in fact _especially_ the people you wanted to get close to. They all valued your uniqueness only insofar as they could make use of it. Take Jack for example. He would gladly take your gift, but without the emotional baggage that came with it. Hypocritical”, Hannibal’s lip curled in contempt at the thought of his old enemy. “Alana, whom you tried so hard to save – whom you wanted to deceive me to save – has not shown the same courage to save you when it mattered.”

“What?” Will interjected. “The only reason why she freed you from Muskrat Farm – _you,_ the person she feared the most, was so that you’d save me in turn.”

“A situation of her own making to begin with. But I was not referring to that instance. She was a fool to bargain with me for your life then – she lost the chance of bargaining for hers. I would have saved you anyway.”

“Even though you had yourself tried to cut into my face only days earlier?”

“You keep bringing that up, Will. It is obviously a sore point with you still, after all these years.”

“It’s one of the most horrible, nightmarish things to have happened to me. In a long list of nightmarish things, most of them of your making.”

Hannibal was quiet, swallowing the accusation. It was finally Will who tugged at his fingers, a little desperately, and more ironically still, it was Will who apologized.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get into this. Please tell me, when could Alana have saved me and chose not to.”

“In the earlier stages of your encephalitis, when you started to show symptoms, and you reached out to her – she rejected you out of an inflated sense of her own ethics. She could have been a solid influence on you, a warmer, steadier one than Jack – and it would have been harder for me to get at you. Think of Jack and Alana – and consider where morality ends and self-interest begins. Whatever we do, Will – at least it will never be tainted with that particular brand of hypocrisy. We will treat people according to their worth, and give them a fate as the ancients would have – into legend.”

Will laughed nervously, realizing he had been hanging onto Hannibal’s every word with reluctant enchantment.

“Your words are poison”, he murmured.

“A season in the underworld and a season on the sunlit earth, Will – this sort of life will wear you down. Be with me in all things.”

“I thought you weren’t going to use metaphors anymore.”

“I lied. If we’re free to lie to each other, I intend to take full advantage of that”, Hannibal said, flippantly. “Until I am satisfied that you have surrendered completely.”

“Only yesterday you said that you regret nothing when it comes to me, Hannibal. Back in Baltimore, as we prepared to go away together, you were adamant that you expected nothing from me.”

“And you - you demanded that I hide nothing from you, even as you were hiding things from me yourself.”

Will sighed. The moon had come out of the clouds and bathed them in a frigid light. He could see Hannibal better. He looked amused, but not without a trace of wistfulness.

“This isn’t a tit-for-tat, Hannibal, this is – “

“A quid pro quo?”

“Every discussion between us seems to evolve into a negotiation”, Will granted with a sad smile.

“I don’t mind”, Hannibal said. “It keeps me on my toes.”

“Yes”, Will answered thoughtfully. “Me too. It’s difficult, though.”

“Worthwhile things often are.”

“I think of our house as home. I think of you and Lito and indispensable to my comfort and well-being.”

“It’s a feeling you’re not familiar with.”

“Yes”, Will agreed.

“But its very existence proves that you are happy. That may also be a feeling you’re not familiar with.”

“I don’t know if I’m –“, Will paused, considering. “Yes, I guess I’m…as happy as I’ll ever be.”

“Trust me, Will – this is the best of your possible worlds.”

Will snorted.

“That’s exactly what Frederick Chilton said to me – when he visited me in the hospital, after you gutted me.”

“His timing was unfortunate – but then again his timing always was. Unless he was going for sarcasm.”

“He wanted me to help him catch you. And I did want to, so badly - but to catch you for _me._ ”

“And catch me you did”, Hannibal said reverently.

“Just as you caught me.”

“And here we are – at last on equal grounds. With nothing to hide from each other.”

“At least for now.”

“Please – let’s enjoy this for a while. I feel like I barely got to have you and you’re about to slip away from me at any moment. Hannibal, let’s just _be_ with each other for a quiet time. You and me, and Lito – just like this. Be quietly together. You know I love you and accept you and understand you better than anyone – can I be enough for you, at least for a short space … please?”

Hannibal stared at Will, unblinking, his face unreadable in the moonlight.

Will nervously held his gaze, fearing he had made another mistake.

He remembered Hannibal’s bitterness when he had accused Will of trying to change him. _“You think that – just like this – you’ll control me? If you love me, you’ll stop? I’ll never stop.”_

“Look”, he insisted, and tugged at Hannibal’s wrist with cold trembling fingers. “I didn’t say forever stop. I’m not trying to change you. I love you just as you are. Just – let’s lay low for some time. Please. It would be in our best interest. The waters have been stirred enough.”

“Say that again.”

“Just for a wh-“

“No. The part where you said you-“

“That I – _love_ you?”  

Hannibal’s eyes darkened.

“You know I do,” Will almost whispered. “I’m sure I said it before – at one point or another.”

“You recounted when you fell in love with me when we were intimate, but I choose not to put much stock on words uttered in such moments. And I assumed you just meant physical attraction.”

“It’s not just that”, Will answered. “It’s all-encompassing. I love you”, he said it again, just to see Hannibal’s pupils dilate again, and he smiled in overjoyed relief at the reaction.

Hannibal’s hand twisted in his grip, and he laced his fingers between Will’s own.

Will looked down at their joined hands.

“How do you say it in Lithuanian?” Will inquired.

“Aš tave myliu”, Hannibal answered automatically.

Will’s eyes went wide, mirroring Hannibal’s heated gaze, as he heard the foreign words slip enticingly from his mouth, the unfamiliar accent making them exciting and precious.

“You are enough for me Will”, Hannibal continued, in a gravelly voice, “if fresh water one can say is enough for a parched creature in the desert. I crave you. And I am also afraid of losing you. Although I am of a sanguine disposition, I have never dared hope for anything like we have now, during the time when I was incarcerated. You are quite right. We must lay low for a time.”

Will blinked slowly, touched and oddly pleased by Hannibal’s words.

“And when you decide that time is over, Hannibal - please promise me that I will know before you do anything,” he couldn’t help adding.

“You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thusly, Mads’ headcanon of Hannibal and Will laying low with their doggie for a few years was finally achieved :3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of, I'm sorry for the big delay in updating and Thank you so much to everyone still following this story, and for the kudos and comments, it really means a lot <3
> 
> Second, this chapter comes with a warning for domestic violence (not important enough plot-wise to be put in the tags, and not between Hannibal and Will), but mind this potential trigger for this chapter. Also I feel I should add that in real life domestic abuse of any kind should be dealt with by exposing the person responsible and getting professional help. I’m sure you all know this already, but it doesn’t hurt to say it, so. 
> 
> Okay! Onwards and upwards ~

Will used to have fantasies about hurting Hannibal – fantasies cloaked in a halo of righteousness and almost religious purity. Will was an avenging angel, merciless but just, like the Lamb of legend, crushing the Great Enemy under foot as the host of heaven sang his praise, and he bristled with a quiet sense of power. He spoke of these fantasies to Hannibal during their later therapy sessions, although never revealing them fully,  but rather as a way to entice Hannibal with the scent of his lust for violence. Will wondered if Hannibal realized, even back then (he probably had), that those fantasies were not pure, but dirty with want – with need, with a sexual element which did not belong in righteous vengeance. No – Will was not an angel, nor was he the Lamb. He was a fallen creature, liable to be corrupted and to corrupt, in turn. He was plagued with frailties and base desires. Would otherwise Hannibal reach out to him from his chariot, select _him_ out of the many, and carry _him_ into the underworld as his companion? Was Hannibal tempted by his innocence alone? No – as enchanting as that theory sounded, Will knew it was not the truth. Hannibal – who saw right through him, perceived that he wore the ceremony of his innocence like a shroud (hadn’t he once used these very words?) – the shroud veiling a carefully contained putrid darkness within – and Hannibal had glimpsed it, where no one else would, and he had set out, methodically and patiently, to unravel him. A slow, painful seduction, to strip him of his adornments, until he stood naked and raw before his new-found god. And Will fought him every step of the way – their interactions had the violence of an abduction, of a ravishment. Why did Will fight him? It was because the veil – the shroud? – of law and morality had been worn for so long, with such devotion, that it had become a second skin. Casting it off was painful – it felt like being flayed alive.

But Hannibal had worked, with the patience of a dedicated craftsman, taking the toy that was Will Graham apart.

He still worked - with the patience of a man in love.

And Will hated him for it – all the more so since the dark part inside of him, the part which reveled in everything that Hannibal was, reached its slimy tendrils out to the monster who was Hannibal Lecter in awe and yearning.  ‘Teach me’, it said. ‘Take me as apprentice and we shall hunt together.’ But Will was also a man in love with the man who was Hannibal Lecter, with his clever fingers and his educated intelligence, with his quiet and impassible strength, and his genuine appreciation for everything beautiful, with his fussy perfectionism, with every single one of his mannerisms, right down to the way he smoothed down his hair. Will yearned and resisted, adored and hated, he wished to please and he wished to hurt. Torn apart with frailties and base desires, he was neither an avenging angel, nor a redeemer.

Was Hannibal any better? His sadism was elevated to the level of art. He rejoiced in tragedy and pain – he could elevate others’ suffering - and his own – to a state of godly favour. Every altered state, even the negative ones, was preferable to boredom.

For a while, all their physical encounters had the quality of something precious. They were tender with each other, taking deliberate care to put the other's pleasure over their own, to rein in their more violent urges. Will was the first to become exasperated with the deliberate slowness and care of Hannibal’s ministrations and set about to provoke him. He grabbed just this side of too hard, he left vicious teeth marks in soft and vulnerable places, he pulled Hannibal’s hair until the man gave an involuntary grunt of reluctant pleasure. He flipped them around and rode him viciously, not allowing him any leverage and Hannibal just grit his teeth and allowed Will to use him, stoically. Sometimes Hannibal retaliated, pinning his wrists down to the bed, baring his teeth and growling, sounds which drove Will crazy with want. He knew that even when he was seemingly not in control, the power remained with him. Every time he got Hannibal to abandon his self-imposed restraint, however minutely and fleetingly in the throes of passion, he gained a little more ground over him, Hannibal became more and more besotted. His eyes lingered over Will occasionally, glazed with wonder, like he couldn’t believe Will loved him and wanted him so much to leave those angry red marks on him in the wake of their lovemaking. Like he hoped – still – that one day Will would be entirely his, as he pretended to be once upon a time - like Patroclus to his Achilles.

But so far Will seemed content to be with Hannibal in quiet domesticity, as promised. He went fishing, and for long walks with Lito, to the opera and museums and dinner parties with Hannibal, whenever Hannibal asked him to. He listened with rapt attention and absorbed everything Hannibal imparted to him – of art, and culture, and personal aesthetics. Sometimes they argued – neither of them could resist the barbs of sarcasm, sharpened precisely for the other. But knowing how to pierce the other so well came with the disadvantage of getting hurt in return, the pointed end like a boomerang. They did not indulge in it often. Arguments were inevitably followed by prolonged, reassuring touches, by slow and penitent lovemaking. Will basked in Hannibal’s love and attention – his smiles became frequent and genuine. He was happy. And Hannibal seemed sustained and appeased just by the sight and feel of Will’s contentment and happiness.

~

More than three years had passed since Hannibal made his promise to Will, almost five years since their legendary fall off the cliff. Will began to feel Hannibal starting to grow soft with comfort and love – his teeth blunted by the feel of meat he did not have to hunt. Even Tattle Crime seemed to have forgotten about them, focused on more recent rockstars. It seemed to Will that he had got everything he wanted: the man he loved and desired, stripped of his ability to hurt, yet blessed with the same capacity for understanding, wisdom, and the  _uniqueness_ which attracted Will to him in the first place.

It seemed too good to last. The sleeping beast would stir eventually.

 

One evening, Will was sitting on the couch, reading, Lito’s head in his lap, while Hannibal was ordering papers on his desk. It was quiet, not even Hannibal’s usual music on. The only noise in the room was Lito’s deep content breathing, slowly drifting off to sleep, as Will lightly scratched and ruffled the fur on his neck. Hannibal had at first been adamant about not allowing Lito at all on any piece of furniture, a rule which was promptly broken during Lito’s first thunderstorm, when he whined and begged and eventually climbed into bed with them, trembling all over and refused to budge, even when Will used his stern voice on him. The rule then changed to ‘no Lito allowed on furniture except during thunderstorms’. But in the wake of their return from Switzerland on that fateful night, they had found evidence that Lito had slept in their bed and in Hannibal’s favourite chair, and indeed in all places he was not allowed to. So Lito did not obey rules unless his masters were there to notice him. ‘Kind of like you’, Will couldn’t help teasing Hannibal. ‘Clever dog’, Hannibal commented. And perhaps because it seemed hypocritical to punish the dog for something he had praised, or perhaps because the dog had got under his skin so much he could ultimately get away with anything, Hannibal relented and Lito was afterwards allowed to climb on every piece of furniture he could get his paws on. Hannibal occasionally made use of the handheld vacuum cleaner to wipe stray hair off chairs and couches, lips tight with disapproval, but otherwise made no comment.

The silence of their tranquil evening was shattered by a swell of angry raised voices. Will peered through the open window. Their neighbours’ house was not very close, but the racket they made was probably heard in the entire street.

“Not again”, Will sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Rude of them”, Hannibal commented, with no real heat.

“Honestly, they should just get a divorce. Not a week goes by without them yelling and throwing things at each other.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t also love each other. Every family loves differently. Although, it is rude and inconsiderate to the neighbours.”

“They seem a nice enough couple when we see them around."

“I’m sure everyone thinks the same about us.”

Will shot him a look.

“Touche”, he said, sarcastically. “At least you’re not throwing pots and pans at me. This shouting match seems worse than their usual. Do you think we should go and check on them? They’ve argued before but never quite like this.”

“You should be happy they’re too caught up in their own issues to pay any attention to us. Even though we’ve done nothing to draw undue attention to ourselves”, Hannibal said, sounding regretful about it. “Them, on the other hand…”

He trailed off as the woman’s shrieks raised in volume.

Hannibal winced but made a show of returning to his papers, while Will tried to focus on his book. Without meaning to, they both pricked their ears to listen to the argument.

They were hurling hurtful words at each other. The man was accusing the woman of being a slut and a drunkard, while she jeered and taunted him about his manhood, in a maddeningly shrill voice. Will’s jaw tightened in irritation.

“God, are they ever gonna stop?” he complained loudly, putting his book down.

“It could be arranged”, Hannibal said, with a thin smile.

“That is _not_ what I meant.”

“Still – you seem very affected by all this. Does she remind you of your own mother?”

“Fuck you. I told you I never knew my mother.”

“Putting together your reaction to this scene, with what I know of your coping mechanism of choice, I’m concluding you might have lied.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Easier to lie than open the can of worms that must have been living with your mother when she was like this.”

“Just because you lied about your family, doesn’t mean everyone does. Of course, not everyone murdered one of their own family, either.”

Hannibal stayed quiet, not taking the bait, but that only served to enrage Will further. A series of crashes were heard from the neighbouring house, followed by a woman’s inarticulate wails and sobs, but he ignored all that, and glared at Hannibal, as he pressed on:

“And do you know _why_ they don’t? You’ll like this, it’s something I’ve been told once by someone close to you. Maybe she’s told you the very same, at one point. Evidently, you chose to ignore it. _There are means of persuasion other than violence. But violence is what you understand.”_

“So do you”, Hannibal said, quietly. “You understand it very well indeed, if my memory of the time when we bested the dragon together serves me right. And so does our neighbour. Sounds like he’s beating his wife into silence. So tell me, Will – what makes you better than him – or me?

“I’m not” – Will started, but was interrupted by a prolonged and desperate shriek, followed by a bang. He stood up alarmed, all his former instincts as a policeman finally stirred into action, and made quickly towards the door, Hannibal close behind.

Their neighbour was rushing down the steps of his house, making towards the car.

“Hey!” Will shouted after him.

The man paid no attention to Will as he ran on, got into his car and sped off. Will turned his attention to the house, which was now quiet. He exchanged a wary look with Hannibal, and they stepped cautiously inside.

Will saw her immediately. She was lying on the floor in a motionless heap. As he knelt beside her, he could see her face was bruised and red. It would swell. Will sat up automatically and went to get an ice pack from the fridge.

Hannibal knelt down next to the woman, surveying her. His voice came to Will, remote and steady:

“One reason why I’m better than the creature who calls this a living room, aside from his appalling lack of taste in furniture and colour combinations, is that I would never do this.”

“No”, Will conceded. “You would get right down to eviscerating her and removing her liver, if she stepped on your toes in a crowded supermarket and did not apologize.”

He pressed his thumb on the woman’s pulse and she stirred slightly, eyelashes fluttering.

“You’re alright”, Will said. “We’re your neighbours, we heard you screaming.”

“Where - ?” she tried, weakly.

“Your husband has left”, Will answered, anticipating her question. “Vittoria - it’s Vittoria, isn’t it? We’ll call an ambulance for you.”

 _“Adam_ ,” Hannibal intervened. “She can call them herself.”

“Can you, Vittoria?”

The woman shook her head.

“I’m alright. I don’t need the hospital.”

“Because they’ll ask questions”, Hannibal added. “And you’ll have to tell them about the monster who did this to you. And they’ll take him away from you. And you’ve grown to love the monster.”

Will stared hard at Hannibal, then looked down at Vittoria. She wasn’t shocked or angry at Hannibal’s words. She just looked resigned.

“Yes, I do love him. But it’s more than this. I understand him. I know his pain better than anyone. And he knows mine. And I can forgive him for what he does to me, because I know – I’m no better. I’m a weak, pathetic creature. I drink, and I sleep around. It’s easier to do this than think – and remember.”

“Remember what, Vittoria?” Will asked gently.

The woman’s eyes welled up and she shoved her fist into her mouth to muffle her sobs.

“A happier time”, she forced out.

Her gaze trailed towards the mantelpiece, and Will followed it. A picture there showed Vittoria and her husband, together with a small child. The husband was smiling widely at the camera but Vittoria was looking down with a besotted expression at the bundle in her arms.

“Your son?” Will asked, quietly.

“My daughter”, she corrected him. “Marina.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died. It was my fault. I left a plastic bag within her reach. I was only gone from the room a few minutes…. but when I came back -- it was – such a stupid accident -”

“Vittoria” – Will interrupted her, eyes wide, as he looked down her body. “You do need the hospital. You’re hurt.”

Between the woman’s legs, staining her dress, was a patch of red which was growing larger and larger.

“Did he kick you in the belly?” Will asked, with barely suppressed rage.

The woman stared stupidly at her blood-stained dress, brow furrowed in disbelief and distress.

“You’ve killed your first”, Hannibal stated, like the chorus in an ancient Greek drama. “And now he has killed your second.”

 _“Hannibal”_ , Will gasped.

“I suppose that makes the two of you even now”, Hannibal continued, ignoring Will’s glare. He turned around, scanning the surroundings, then swiftly moved to pick up a phone from the table.

“Call that ambulance”, he said, handing it to Vittoria.

She was trembling with shock and despair, pale and clammy from the sight of her own blood, but she pushed the phone aside.

“No”, she breathed. “No, no, no.”

“Hannibal, please help her.”

“What can I do? She needs the hospital.”

“You’re a doctor. Please. _Please_ , Hannibal.”

Hannibal looked at Will for a few seconds in silence, then he started to take off his vest. Will was struck with the memory of a similar scene, a long time ago, Hannibal undressing in the back of an ambulance, pressing expert hands on the wound of a victim of the not-quite-Chesapeake Ripper, _saving_ him. If Will hadn’t already been taken with his exotic psychiatrist, that would have been the moment that sealed his fate. He smiled slightly, as he remembered that back then, he saw Hannibal as a care-giver, a restorer, a healer – perfect in his immovability – and himself as a destroyer, a flawed, flighty mess. Even as he learned the truth about Hannibal, even as his heart was torn with the betrayal, somehow that hadn’t changed - in the back of Will’s mind, in the foundations of his beliefs, Hannibal still reigned as a hero, a source of powerful stability and restorer of balance.

Hannibal bent over the woman, even as she pushed him away with weak limbs.

“No, don’t. Don’t help me.”

“You’re losing a lot of blood”, Hannibal argued patiently.

Her face lit up with a crazed grin.

“Good. Let me die. I deserve this. It’s God’s punishment.”

Hannibal’s lip curled with contempt.

“The sooner you forgo your faith in divine justice, Vittoria, the happier you will be”, he said, pushing her dress up and examining the damage with clinical detachment. Forgoing your faith in human justice too will make you even happier”, he continued, with a glance at Will.

Vittoria shook her head from side to side miserably.

“I deserve to be punished.”

“Is it bad?” Will asked Hannibal.

“Please bring my medical kit”, he received in the way of an answer.

Will stood up shakily, and moved towards the exit. Once outside, the urgency of the situation seemed to strike him and he broke off at a run towards their house. Ignoring Lito, who barked and jumped on him, sensing his excitement but not the cause for it, he located the medical kit, and with a stern ‘Stay’ to the dog, he hurried back to the now eerily quiet house next door.

“I can see you’re good men”, he heard Vittoria panting deliriously, as he came in. “But you have to let me be.”

“We’re not good men, Vittoria”, Will interrupted her decisively. “We’re monsters. So we don’t judge.”

“But I deserve to be judged.”

“This is like a poorly rehearsed operetta”, Hannibal commented, rummaging inside the kit.

“I thought you liked high tragedy”, Will whispered to Hannibal on a snarl.

“This isn’t high tragedy”, Hannibal answered him. “This is the petty misery of everyday life. It is precisely the thing I am doing my best to run from.”

“Because you’re better than everyone? Is that it?”

“I am indeed – in skill, intelligence, education and abilities, and taste too, more than above average. I cannot abide banality.”

Will watched him, and the half of his soul which had always belonged to Hannibal trembled with the truth of his words and reached out to him. Will clamped down on the other half – the resentful part, which wanted to keep goading and taunting, and answered, warmly:

“I know, Hannibal. I _know you._ And – thank you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He pressed close, arms sneaking around Hannibal’s waist and lips close to his ear as he whispered to him:

“I love you. I love you so much I don’t know how to deal with it sometimes.”

Hannibal did not arrest his movements, although his breath came quicker and eventually, he said:

“Yes. One always learns.” He leaned his cheek minutely against Will’s curls. “Get me some warm water and clean towels, please.”

Will didn’t feel like letting go, but he tightened his arms around Hannibal momentarily, then obliged.

Offering the requested items, he then sat down on the floor, watching Hannibal work. Vittoria had settled down, after Hannibal had given her a sedative, and was blinking heavily, close to sleep.

“I’m done”, Hannibal said finally. “She’ll be quite alright. I’ll put her to bed.”

“Do you need help?” Will said standing up.

“No. I got her.”

He lifted Vittoria off the floor easily enough, and made towards the stairs.

“Your bedroom is upstairs, yes?”

Vittoria mumbled an assent.

“You should rest for a couple of days”, Hannibal continued. “And I still recommend going to the hospital, to check for any internal damage.”

Will remained behind, looking around the room in a daze. There was blood on the floor and bits of discarded medical supplies. Will hoped that Hannibal won’t feel the need to clean and tidy up, although Will could perfectly see him doing it, absurd as it was, right down to meticulously straightening the corners of the carpet when he was done. When the husband came home, he should be greeted by this sight. He should feel guilty and worried. He momentarily considered the fate Hannibal might have planned for that man and felt a shiver of delight, quickly followed by a stab of guilt. He quickly stepped out of the house, but moved no further than the front steps, waiting for Hannibal to emerge.

He was staring absentmindedly into the darkness, when the door finally opened. Hannibal descended the stairs and sat down next to Will on the bottom step, unmindful of his suit.

“Did it ever occur to you, Will, that we might be gods?”

“Is this another one of your metaphors?” Will said, lightly.

“No. Yes.”

Will raised an eyebrow. Hannibal was in a strange mood. Well, it was a strange evening.

“You wouldn’t have fun being God.”

“No. I was thinking about the ancient gods, who are tossed this way and that by the winds of fortune – granted, as humans themselves are, but unlike humans, they don’t have the luxury of not having to play by the rules.”

Will frowned. For once, he did not catch Hannibal’s meaning.

“You think gods play by the rules?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s one of the requirements of being a god. You are trapped by your own designs. By your own purpose. Caught in the game. Take for instance, you and me – our first meeting, everything we did – we couldn’t have chosen differently if we tried.”

“Is this a belated apology for gutting me? Or trying to crack my skull open?”

Hannibal looked down at his hands, uncharacteristically hesitant, and didn’t reply.

Will turned to face him fully, intrigued.

“So what does this mean, in relation to the moment we’re in now?”

“That I wish I could break out of the game.”

Will stared at him, mouth agape.

“Hannibal”, he said carefully. “You did break out of the game. You saved someone just now, someone you might have killed for being rude. Us living together, not fighting, us not killing each other, you promising me not to kill for a while – All that is breaking protocol, is it not?”

“No”, Hannibal said. “It’s exactly what I – what we were supposed to do, eventually. Another layer of the game. We’ve been dancing around each other for so long, it was inevitable we introduced some new moves.”

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?”

Hannibal shrugged.

“If you want to put it that way.”

Will blinked rapidly, trying to focus. He had never seen Hannibal so – defeated? Apathetic? The proper term to describe his mood evaded Will. If it was any other person, he would just deem them tired and pay it no further mind, but he’d seen Hannibal at his most exhausted, when the situation seemed most hopeless, yet never like this. This side of Hannibal was new and unsettling. Although Will couldn’t help worrying, he was still marginally pleased that Hannibal allowed him of all people to see this part of himself.

“Okay…so how do we break out entirely?” he asked Hannibal, gently.

The unexpected answer came, shaking Will’s foundations and threatening to topple them down.

“If I stop – forever.”

Shutupshutupshutup, Will almost cried out. He remembered clearly Hannibal’s voice saying, with irreparable conviction: “I’ll never stop. Never.” Did this mean that – no. No. Hannibal wouldn’t. _Suicide is the enemy._

“Do you want to stop, forever?” Will asked instead, hardly daring to utter the word.

Hannibal didn’t answer. He seemed lost in thought, peering ahead into the quiet lane, and beyond, towards the forest quietly murmuring with night noises. Finally, he said, on an uncharacteristically small voice:

“I never intended for this…”

He paused, and Will held his breath.

“It’s you”, Hannibal continued. “You make me betray myself. I know what I have to do. I’ve known it since I first met you. Killing you was the right thing, the obvious thing to do. But like a cat playing with a very entertaining mouse, I allowed the game to continue, thinking I had all the time in the world, and thinking I held all the cards. Yet as time passed, the right thing became more and more difficult to do.”

Will stiffened. Despite everything, it hurt to hear Hannibal speak in such terms of their early relationship.

“It isn’t too late to try again, you know”, he said resentfully. “To do the _right thing_.”

Hannibal ignored him, and continued softly, like speaking to the thin air surrounding them:

“You have wounded me. You have changed me. I am a shadow of myself.”

“Hannibal…” His fingers strayed to grip Hannibal’s arm, squeezing with childish persistence. “Let’s go home, please.” 

“Must I always play by the rules?” Hannibal pressed on, as if Will hadn’t spoken. “You freeing yourself from me, and me freeing myself from you – they’re the same”, he repeated old words, but it still didn’t sound like he was talking to Will.

“Hannibal”, Will repeated more urgently, a shiver of dread running down his spine. “I don’t want to free myself from you anymore.”

“But you won’t fully accept me, either. We cannot live in limbo.”

Will sighed in palpable relief at Hannibal finally acknowledging him.

“Can’t we?” he said, trying for a carefree tone. “It seems that’s what we’ve been doing.”

“Yes. But it’s been borrowed time. Something must give. Or someone. And I don’t want it to be me. It won’t be me. I won’t be beaten down and made into something I’m not. If you love me –“ Hannibal turned to Will, addressing him properly for the first time since he sat on the steps, “if you love me, you’ll save me.”

Will looked at him for a long moment. He _looked,_ and _saw,_ until his eyes stung and he had to look away, Hannibal’s unexpected vulnerability laid bare too much for him to take, and then he looked wildly around in the gathering darkness, searching for something, for inspiration, for a sign from god – or the devil. Small bright lights twinkled in the distance, chasing each other madly through the high grass. Fireflies. _The world is made of fireflies and snails, Will._

Will chuckled suddenly in giddy relief, and spoke without much thinking:

“Let’s go home. I mean – your home.”

Hannibal looked startled and stared at Will with comically rounded eyes.

“I can’t go home. But – you’ve been there before.”

“Yes, I have”, Will answered. “I came there to be close to you. To know you better. You were with me, in a way. And I left a gift for you.”

“I can’t go home”, Hannibal repeated. “The people know me there. They’ll be looking for me. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s been a long time. The people knew you in Florence, and that hasn’t stopped you from going there, several times”, Will pointed out.

“It’s not the same.”

“I know. There are paths there you cannot safely tread”, Will spoke, remembering Chiyoh’s words. “But this time, I’ll be with you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve changed the summary of this fic because that initial description only applied to the first few chapters and I thought of a better (?) one.

Will had intended his words to sound reassuring, protective, but Hannibal recoiled like a wounded beast. Behind the impassible, statuesque face, shutters were pulled down, battlements pulled up, to guard against prying eyes.

“Please let me see you”, Will whispered. “I am frightened when I cannot see you.”

“How much do you know?” Hannibal asked, in a measured voice.

“Not much – only the very little that Chiyoh told me.”

“Not much…”, Hannibal echoed. “But enough to know the magnitude of it.”

“I have forgiven you, Hannibal”, Will reminded him. “For all your sins, past and present, known and unknown.”

“You are not an angel yourself. Your forgiveness is limited.”

“You are my friend, my _soulmate_. My forgiveness is infinite – and it is a gift I bestow on myself, as much as on you.”

“You would break me apart, figment by figment, just so you can better know yourself.”

“Isn’t that what love is?”

“You know by now I cannot refuse you anything. Gone are the days when I had the upper hand, or when we clashed together as equals. You hold the sword over my head, because I cannot and I will not kill you.”

“So I take it this is your hannibalesque way of saying ‘Yes, Will, let’s visit my childhood home.’

Hannibal did not return the smile.

“If that is what you wish.” He studied his hands, off Will's inquiring look. “We have to let Chiyoh know we’re coming.”

~

“I must confess”, Chiyoh said to Will, “all this time, I’ve been waiting for either one of you to kill the other.”

They were sitting at a sumptuous table in the large dining hall of the Lecter Castle. The multitude of candles and the fire burning brightly in the fireplace couldn’t make up for the length of time when these rooms had been left deserted – their oppressive silence, the insinuating cold, the shadows in the corners where light and warmth did not reach. And the shadows whispered, they had form and purpose.

Will shivered involuntarily, casting furtive looks around. He would have felt much more comfortable at the lodge, where Chiyoh was staying, but Hannibal had insisted he wanted to stay in the castle, and Will had, of course, acquiesced. After all, it had been his idea to come. He slowly returned his attention to the table, and to Chiyoh, who watched him steadily. He realized she was probably expecting an answer, and he cleared his throat:

“Hm, right. So it was all the same to you who killed who?”

Chiyoh shrugged:

“I learned long ago it’s wise to stay out of the way of wild beasts.”

They heard Hannibal before they saw him.

“Poached pheasant in star anise and chili broth, with udon noodles”, he announced. The shadows in the room seemed to give way and he appeared in their field of vision, carrying three plates. “A familiar comfort food”, he added, resting a hand on Chiyoh’s shoulder.

“I should have been the one cooking this for you, then”, Chiyoh remarked. “It can’t be easy for you, being here again.”

“It can’t be easy for you to be here again, either”, Hannibal answered.

“This place holds nothing for me anymore”, Chiyoh said. “It is a place like any other. I am free.”

“We are never free from memories. Not even in dreams.”

Will had been trying to gauge Hannibal’s feelings, his mood, anything that would clue him in about his reaction to being back in the one place he swore never to set foot again – but Hannibal was closed off to him. He played the game of solicitousness and affability like no other, but underneath it all, he had donned a blank mask which would reveal nothing to Will, who felt increasingly frustrated – almost enough to stoop to rudeness, just so he’d get an unguarded reaction from Hannibal.

“Is there something wrong with the food, Will?”

Hannibal’s sudden question startled Will into rapid blinking to refocus. He had felt safe enough to momentarily indulge in musings by the apparent safety of Hannibal conversing with Chiyoh, the food on his plate forgotten and left untouched. But nothing could make Hannibal ignore that someone, Will especially, was not paying due respect to his culinary creations.

Will delved into the dish and understood why Hannibal had called it comfort food – it lacked the usual flamboyance of Hannibal’s meals – even the taste of the meat was subdued, but successfully rescued from blandness by the touch of chili and star anise. The pungent spices however did not irritate the senses, but dissolved into a warm, almost pleasantly numbing taste in the mouth. It was masterfully delicious and altogether fitting. Will felt the warmth and pleasure spread to the tips of his fingers and the oppressive atmosphere of the room lift a little. Despite the fact that his appreciation was probably clearly visible on his face, Will debated whether he shouldn’t rudely pretend the dish wasn’t to his taste. That would get an authentic reaction out of Hannibal, for sure. It might also quite possibly be the last thing Will ever did. Will balanced the pros and cons in his mind, while unconsciously taking a few more bites. The danger fled. Apparently satisfied that Will was enjoying the food, Hannibal turned his attention back to Chiyoh.

When Will resurfaced again from his thoughts back to the present moment, Hannibal was asking Chiyoh what became of his cochlear garden. It put Will in mind of the firefly man. Three years spent in quiet domesticity, three unlikely years living with a beloved monster with clipped claws, made the memory of his first time on the Lecter estate as foreign as if it belonged to someone else… someone long dead, because how could someone like he was then, have survived? Will tried to get into the mindset of the Will Graham who traveled to Lithuania by himself all those years ago, the price of Hannibal’s angry love for him barely healed, the trauma of Abigail’s death pulsating viciously like a festering wound. He had come here, so completely enmeshed with Hannibal’s cruel spirit, that each step he took was with Hannibal’s blessing. He felt Hannibal guide him ever since he climbed over the gates. It was like being possessed. In a way, it was Hannibal who was responsible for the firefly man tableau, Hannibal acting by proxy, as he was wont to do. Will couldn’t for the life of him remember what had gone through his mind when he strung up the man that Chiyoh had killed, adorned him with snails and pieces of broken glass and feathers, bound  him tightly and pressed him in the shape of a grotesque firefly, arms joined in a mockery of prayer. He closed his eyes and saw the vision of the murder tableau as he had seen it before he rushed off with Chiyoh to find Hannibal, candles illuminating the dark cellar, the body swaying slightly, the large wings glittering like strange jewels, live snails crawling placidly through the man’s wild beard. Why had he done it? Will felt like he could see the answer with the corner of his eye, his former mindset only barely escaping him, the memory of his former self dancing just out of reach. It was frustrating, to be so close and feel it gnawing at the surface of your subconscious, and he sighed audibly.

“Will?” Hannibal’s voice came to him. “Are you quite alright? You haven’t said a word all evening.”

Will blinked.

“I – yes. Just tired.”

“It has been a long day”, Hannibal agreed, “and travel is always exhausting. Especially trailing a dog behind.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, for Chiyoh’s benefit.

There it was again, the solicitousness and the mask of agreeable sociability he wore, as if he was entertaining at one of his dinner parties. It drove Will mad. He pushed his chair back:

“Speaking of which, I’ll get Lito indoors.”

He picked up a flashlight and went out, not waiting for a response.

The dog had refused to come inside when they arrived, instead embarking on a stubbornly exhaustive investigation of the estate. Will decided both Lito, as well as himself, had enough of scavenging for one day.

He whistled and called him by name, and Lito rushed up to him, tail wagging frantically. Will sank his fingers in his wiry fur gratefully. He felt comforted by his warm, friendly company in the eerie surroundings.

A rustle behind him made Will turn sharply. It was Chiyoh.

“This place is seething with ghosts”, she stated matter-of-factly. “But of course, you already know.”

Will shook his head.

“I am a different man than when I first came here. Less carefree with my sanity, more afraid of losing - just more afraid of losing, in general, I guess. What I feel I’ve earned.”

Chiyoh nodded.

“Then you shouldn’t have come here. Good night.”

“Good night”, Will answered automatically, and she briskly nodded and made off towards the lodge.

Will patted Lito’s head and started back towards the castle. But after a few steps, he stopped. Something hovered just at the edge of his vision. Something bright. As if in a trance, he changed direction, his steps carrying him now towards the dark cellar.

He descended carefully, one hand feeling its way along the slippery and slimy walls, Lito whining uncertainly behind him and suddenly – there – _there it was_ , and just as swiftly, it all came back to Will.

He bustled as if in a madness to light each and every candle scattered all around the room. Large insects crawled and shuffled toward the darker corners of the cellar, startled by movement and light. Only the snails remained, still edging sluggishly about, around and over each other, unconcerned with human company. 

Where the bearded man had once been, a skeleton now remained, still immersed in the shroud Will had fashioned for him, like in a great cocoon, his great wings still glmmering dully in the candlelight. Great spiders had nested in the shadowy corners, weaving their thick webs all around his form. Larvae had fed on his body and transformed into fat moths which now flitted about the cellar, stupefied by the sudden brightness. A green vile fungus was growing on the back of the giant firefly, where it faced the damp wall, thriving in the humid darkness. The once-predator now being continuously fed on. The feast of life continued. The world is made of fireflies and snails, Hannibal had told him. And snails get eaten. But Will could see the giant firefly had provided sustenance for the snails even long after the meat on his bones had gone. They were not predators but the small quiet creatures still quietly and persistently consumed. They had outlived the firefly.

Hannibal’s voice could be heard outside, calling for Will.

Lito started to bark, alerting Hannibal to their location, and sprang out of the cellar to meet him.

“If you wanted to sample the old family wine, Will, all you had to do was ask”, he said, as he came slowly down the stairs. “I lit the fire in the bedroom upstairs, it is still fairly cold, but –“

He stopped short as he came in view of the murder tableau.

Will wanted to speak but the words got stuck in his throat. He could only watch the myriad of reactions on Hannibal’s face as he took it in.

“Did you make this?” Hannibal asked at last, with reverent awe.

“Yes”, Will whispered. And once that small word was out, he couldn’t stop. “It was for you. My forgiveness to you and my plea for _your_ forgiveness – my valentine and my wedding gift – I made it when I was filled to the brim by thoughts of you, immersed in you so much it felt I was possessed by your spirit. I ached for you, I yearned for I knew not what - I thought I was so thirsty to know all your secrets so I could better destroy you, I thought my desire to see you again was because then I could end you, but I didn’t know, Hannibal, I didn’t know myself, because I only really knew myself when I was with you – and without you, I stumbled in one catacomb after another, feeling my way like a blind man, making statues in your name -”

“But, my love, my Will”, Hannibal breathed, “the doubting boy doesn’t cling to you anymore. In your heart of hearts, you are a fierce warrior claiming the path you have chosen, one I have merely helped in revealing to your sight.”

He paused and looked around the small cellar.

“Look at the creeping crawling things, these small unassuming symbols of death and decay… look at the quiet reverent darkness only slightly pierced by the light of your candles – their dull glow only serves to magnify its beauty? _Look at what you have made_. You revel in it, you can’t deny it, the nasty thrill, the forbidding beauty of it. You love it, and you love the horror and pain of it, even as you marvelled at the blood appearing black in the moonlight. All your denials cannot void your nature, Will.”

He took a step closer and his scent and the overwhelming strength of his presence enveloped Will entirely.

“Thank you for your gift. It is well received. I see you as clearly as you have seen me. You see into men’s hearts, you envision their innermost desires and seek to give it to them. It is no more than I would expect of you, my angel. Where I would seek to humiliate men in death, you seek to elevate them. We are distinctly identical.”

He brushed his lips tenderly across Will’s forehead. Will closed his eyes and leaned into his chest. Hannibal’s arms came up and around him, enveloping him with possessive intent.

“Always struggling with yourself, Will, never giving in - did you come here to uncover my secrets or for you to better know yourself?”

“We came here for you, Hannibal. So you could make peace-“

“Shhh.” Hannibal abruptly covered Will’s mouth with his palm, pressing on it, to muffle the rest of his speech, and he bent to kiss his neck hungrily.

“I want to have you right here, Will,” he said.

“Here??” Will’s indignation came through quite clearly, even if the word was muffled.

“Yes. Right here and now.”

“Hannibal, no – it’s –“

_Cold? Damp? Dirty? In close proximity to a dead body? All of the above_?

“I see you are not entirely opposed to it”, Hannibal said pointedly, looking down at his body.

Will removed Hannibal’s palm from his mouth and replied, sharply:

“You’re practically on top of me, kissing me and running your hands all over me – difficult for me to oppose that. But I’d much rather continue what we are doing in a warm comfortable bed.”

“Our bedroom is very cold”, Hannibal mumbled, still kissing down his neck, opening his shirt to slide his lips down his exposed chest. “That’s what I was coming here to tell you.”

“We should have slept in the lodge. Chiyoh offered to make a bed for us there.”

“If I have to be here, the only place I will sleep in is my family’s house, even if the beds are cold.”

“Alright – let’s go there, then-“

Hannibal pressed onto his shoulders, making him sit. Kneeling between his legs, he kissed him with unrestrained hunger.

“You must have known you’d get this reaction out of me when you showed me this. You've been planning this all day, haven't you? Sitting quiet and remote.”

Will shook his head even as he kissed back: 

"No - no, I haven't. It was an impulse - just as yours now is-"

Hannibal pushed him all the way down, and Will’s back hit the hard floor. He tried not to think of the creatures shuffling around him. Hannibal’s weight on top of him seemed heavier than usual and stifling hot. It made Will yield a little to the strangeness and excitement of it. Strange to see the cellar from this vintage point, stranger still to see Hannibal in the middle of it, so focused on removing their clothes, his breath so erratic, his features lacking the usual composure. The smell of rot and decay was sharp in Will’s nostrils, mixed with the heady smell of putrid vegetation, aged wine and cold stone. The smell of tombstones – a potent reminder of the fragility of life. Despite his initial reluctance, arousal crept up on Will with a sudden dizzying intensity – even the discomfort and pain could not take from it. The stones dug into Will’s back, as Hannibal eased into him, slowly but insistently, after the barest of preparations. The drag and slide of Hannibal’s cock into him ignited sparkles of murky pleasure, like running tongues of fire across Will’s tender insides – a heat like that of hell itself consumed Will, and he threw his head back and screamed. The cellar floor felt blessedly cool at his back, and he turned his head, pressing his cheek to it mindlessly. At eye level, he could still see the snails, lewdly climbing on top of each other. The image swum around Will’s eyes, in waves.

“Did you know”, Hannibal’s voice arrived to him as if from far away, “that snails impale the partners with love darts during their courtship?”

Will looked up at him. Hannibal’s eyes seemed almost entirely black. He looked beautiful. Will could see him, now – he was no longer hiding, he was raw and exposed like a fresh wound. But Will was exhausted and flushed, filled to the brim with burning lust. He wanted his pleasure and then blessed loss of consciousness.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing to me now?”

“No – that is what I _did_ to you. This is not a metaphor, Will. They do stab their partners before mating, with something that is the equivalent of a poisoned arrow – and it always hurts – leaving lasting damage,” Hannibal explained patiently, the rhythm of his voice never faltering, even as he continued his fierce thrusting.

Will shuddered as Hannibal traced softly with his fingers the line of the scar on his belly. The tenderness of the caress was at odds with the feeling of being ruthlessly impaled, and he whined, eyes rolling back into his head, impossibly turned on.

“Why do they do it?” Will managed.

“It has to do with imprinting. Possession.”

Will bit his lip until he tasted blood.

“Is that why you did it?” he asked.

Hannibal didn’t answer. He grabbed Will’s head with both hands, forcing eye contact. Will held his gaze. He was transported unwillingly and unexpectedly to that night in Hannibal’s kitchen. They had stared at each other with such wild, tormented eyes – unblinking and unrepentant – feasting hungrily on the pain they dealt each other, as a bittersweet farewell. Will had relived those moments so often in his mind, they were as familiar to Will as breathing. But this time, they came with something new – Will felt that there was something in the back of Hannibal’s mind – something else about that night – something that nagged at Will like a long lost memory or a déjà vu he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then the searing hot pain of the knife in his belly shattered his senses and he came to, gasping, on the floor of the cellar, in the throes of pleasure, convulsing with it, as he fought to ride the high of his climax and still keep the thread of his recollections. But everything dissolved in a blinding white light, and his mind became a blank canvas of peace. Hannibal stilled on top of him, with an almost pained moan, as he spilled inside of him.

“You were always mine”, Hannibal finally answered, with a quiet finality.

Will had forgotten the question, but that sounded like an acceptable answer to everything. He made an inarticulate noise of content. He felt boneless and relaxed, a few seconds from sleep. Hannibal pulled out, arranged their clothes and then stood up, but Will didn’t stir. He watched the snails and it seemed to him that they whispered to each other, of feasts in the darkness. He smiled. Hannibal trod lightly around him, then away, calling to Lito, then suddenly Will felt himself being lifted off the ground. His eyes snapped open in alarm.

“What are you _doing_?”

“You didn’t seem very inclined to move, and since it is partly my doing that we ended up here instead of in a bed, as you requested, I felt responsible.”

“Don’t be sorry. It was a fantastic experience”, Will spoke truthfully, winding his arms around Hannibal’s neck.

“I did not say I was sorry at all”, Hannibal answered. He adjusted his hold on Will and started up the steps. Will looked over his shoulder.

The candle lights glimmered softly in farewell. Will burrowed his nose in Hannibal’s shirt and inhaled deeply the familiar and well-loved scent of him, drunk on endorphins and closeness. The castle, looming high and grand in the darkness, looked as forbidding as ever, but Will felt more mellow towards it now.

“We seem to be trapped in a gothic fairytale,” Will said, with amusement. “Are you gonna carry me over the threshold?”

“Haven’t I before?”

“In my house”, Will quietly recounted to himself, “and now in yours.”

“Yes.”

Hannibal stepped inside and the shadows parted to receive him.

~

Will woke at dawn on the crisp cool sheets, and stared at the high ceiling above him. The fire had died in the hearth and the air in the large room was chilly. Will debated whether or not to rekindle it, but then decided against it. They would have to get up soon anyway. Will glanced through the grand windows at the gathering of heavy clouds. He sighed and turned over. Hannibal was curled up away from him, in the furthest corner of the large bed. Will frowned. They had fallen asleep tangled together, Will had even clasped his right hand in both of his, pressing it to his cheek. A part of him had wanted to take advantage of their new-found closeness to speak with Hannibal of his past, when he was open and willing, but exhaustion pulled strongly at Will, and unconsciousness, when it came, was blessedly sweet. But now Hannibal had drifted away from him again. Will decided to ignore his obvious wish for solitude and pressed himself against Hannibal’s back, arms snaking around his waist. Even in sleep, Hannibal tensed, but Will didn’t let go. Hannibal’s breath caught with a small strangled sound in the back of his throat, and Will ran a hand down his hair soothingly, trying to wake him gently.

“Mm”, Hannibal said, turning to face him. “What are you doing, Will?”

“It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

“What was I doing?”

“Nothing quite as spectacular as what I normally do when I’m having one, but – you seemed rigid, troubled.”

“I don’t remember dreaming anything.”

Will continued his caress down Hannibal’s neck.

“This is a beautiful room”, he said. “Now that I see it in the light of day.”

“It is no match now for what it used to be. This was my mother’s room. And the very first room of my memory palace.”

Will waited to see if Hannibal would continue.

“This castle could be magnificent if it’s properly restored”, he offered, when it became clear Hannibal would not say anything more.

“I see no reason to have it restored. I have no intention of returning again.”

“What happened here, Hannibal?” Will asked, in barely a whisper.

The beginning of a sneer slowly formed on Hannibal’s face. He grabbed Will’s hand which had wandered lower.

“A bit too transparent for you, isn’t it, Will? Do you truly believe I’d just tell you?”

“I thought-“

“You thought if you courted me with a gift – although the gift was indeed beautiful – I’d readily give you my secrets. But I need more from you, Will. More than grand gestures and caring words.”

Hannibal’s voice was calm, gentle even, but definitive. He kissed Will’s wrist, then set his hand down firmly, and got out of bed.

“I’ll go make breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, snails do stab each other with what are actually called ‘love darts’ as part of their courtship. NUDGE NUDGE WINK WINK I see what you did there Bryan Fuller


	14. Chapter 14

Chiyoh didn’t join them for breakfast. The dining room looked less foreboding than last night, but bare and desolate in the ruthless morning light. Without the scented candles, there was a faint lingering sanitary smell of the detergent used to thoroughly clean the old stones. They ate in silence, a simple but hearty meal. _A little protein scramble to start the day._ Will wondered if the meat was still pheasant, and how long before one of them had to go into town for supplies. Or _supplies._

Hannibal poured coffee with a steady hand, then asked Will:

“Did you take anything from the man before you strung him up?”

“Like a trophy, you mean?”

“Like meat.”

“No. I took nothing. It didn’t seem right. Chiyoh was the one who killed him, she should have been the one to –“

“She may have been the one who watched the light go out in his eyes, but this was still your kill.”

“Then was Randall Tier yours?”

“No,” Hannibal answered, shortly.

“Then where does influence stop?”

“Everyone is ultimately responsible for their own actions, Will.”

“Then they’re all your kills, Hannibal. But I am responsible for them.”

“So you deny the intent but not the responsibility?”

“When I strung up that man – I didn’t feel like myself. I felt like you. I _was_ you.”

“And how did that feel?”

“I felt the shadow of mad certainty assail me but not quite breach me.”

Will gazed ahead, eyes unfocused, as he revisited the strange memory. Then he abruptly shook himself out of it, and laughed, awkwardly.

“It’s funny…You have always been a steadying influence on me, even when you – weren’t.” He paused, considering. “Was I any sort of influence on you?”

Hannibal’s reply was too sudden to suspect dissimulation:

“Yes. Destructive.”

Will looked for resentment in his utterance of the word, but found only a pensive sadness. He remembered using the very same word once to describe Hannibal himself. They had been discussing forces of nature and Hannibal likened himself to one. Will’s battered self, awash in storms of new and strange hues, couldn’t contradict him – not yet gorged, plucked and roasted – but only _just yet._ Strange to imagine that Hannibal felt the same.

“Destruction leads to new life,” Will reminded him, with the placid serenity which was Hannibal’s therapeutic tool of choice.

Hannibal bowed his head in amused acknowledgement and smiled thinly.

They sipped their coffee.

“You know”, Hannibal began conversationally, “I once had a patient who had convinced himself he did not react to things as he should have. In effect, he became so preoccupied with offering the world what he presuposed was a ‘normal reaction’, that he came to experience things second-hand, almost retroactively, and only through the prism of his censorship.”

“That is not possible”, Will said. Then, on reflection: “Was that ‘patient’ yourself?”

“I assure you it is quite possible, and that was the nature of this patient’s pathology.”

“Have you tried startling him into an unguarded, involuntary reaction?”

“Of course. Once I threw a pencil sharpener at his face. He didn’t duck, nor did he exhibit the inevitable involuntary flinch, even when the object hit him square in the jaw.”

“What did he do?”

“He composed his face into a mask of surprise, irritation and pain, so delayed as to be ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t throw anything more damaging at him. I don’t know how you refrained. Or – wait, _did_ you refrain?”

“He was a fascinating study.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Skipping ahead to the end of the story, I explained to his family the extent to which he was accident-prone and they agreed to have him institutionalized.”

“That was uncommonly kind of you.”

“I didn’t want him to die before I finished my case study.”

“I recant my words.”

“Unfortunately, he did die. A freak accident, no less. He was brought dinner and he was eating under supervision when a piece of bread became stuck in his throat, due to his swallow reflex being impaired. A cough or even an energetic swallow would have dislodged it. Instead, he remained quiet and still, not drawing attention to his predicament, until he colapsed from respiratory failure. I wasn’t present, but I was treated with elaborate accounts by the nurses. They were afraid the family would sue them for negligence.”

“My God. Did they - sue?”

“Yes. But then they settled.”

“Of course…There was nothing the nurses could have done… Hm”, Will shook his head bewildered. “This _is_ a strange tale. What prompted you to remember it? And his condition – does it have a name, has it been documented before? Have you published your case study?”

Hannibal watched him for a few seconds, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“My dear Will, I never tire of holding your awestruck and captive attention.”

Will grimaced, rolling his eyes, then realization dawned on him and he frowned.

“What - Are you - That wasn’t true, was it? You just made all that up!”

“I’m afraid so,” Hannibal said, his grin now decidedly Cheshire-cat-like.

Will glared at Hannibal, torn between outrage and reluctant amusement.

“Ridiculous, the way I fell for it. I knew it, I knew this couldn’t be possible.”

“Consider it an early April Fools joke.”

“Hannibal, April Fools jokes can only be made on April Fools Day. That’s sort of a requirement.”

Hannibal shrugged, unperturbed.

“You’re quite the storyteller though, I’ll give you that. Although this is something I’ve known about you for a while”, Will acknowledged. “As I knew of your obvious pleasure in keeping my interest – captive.”

Hannibal finished his coffee and delicately wiped the corners of his mouth.

“A successful therapist must be a good storyteller”, he offered.

“Still”, Will insisted, sizing Hannibal up, “something must have prompted such a story, at this particular time.”

“Of course. You prompted it. You brought me here to study my reactions”, Hannibal answered, watching the light of merriment go out in Will’s eyes. “Like a bug under the microscope. Prod it and it twitches. Dip it in chloroform and it goes numb. I wish I could be like my imaginary patient and not allow you the satisfaction,” Hannibal finished, and this time Will could clearly hear the resentment in his voice.

“Oh, but you do”, Will in his turn infused his words with bitterness. “In fact, in the beginning I thought the patient was a metaphor for what is your usual MO.”

He pushed his chair back abruptly, sat up, and left the room, without a spare glance, letting Hannibal clean the table and do the dishes.

Outside, Will took a deep lungful of the chilly air, smelling of rain, wet firewood and smoke. He remembered Chiyoh sharing the story of Hannibal burning barks for her to identify by scent, then he wondered if Chiyoh would join them at dinner. Will wanted to ask for her help – her knowledge and insight would be valuable – but he was both intrigued and intimidated by her – also, he found it difficult to trust her in any matter where Hannibal was concerned. He briefly considered the possibility Hannibal and Chiyoh might have been lovers, and found the idea unsettling. There were so many secrets he was not allowed to unveil – the ground itself whispered with barely supressed secrets. Will remembered the fountain, and suddenly he wanted to see it in the light of day, without the glimmer of the fireflies to guide him – wanted to see if he could find it.

He changed direction, heading towards the forest.

The mist prowled around the castle and the enclosure like a breathy foam. But inside the forest, there was no mist at all, almost as if there was an invisible door keeping it out. It was very dark and still inside the forest.

His steps carried him towards the clearing, where he came upon the disused fountain. In the unforgiving light of day it looked dismal, even pitiful. Vines still crawled about it, and snails in similar abundance guarded it. But it lacked the quaint enchantment that Will found in it the first time he had seen it. Now it was just an old, abandoned place. Will lifted his eyes to the black angel watching from above, and then, with a start of remembrance, lowered them to the small hand imprint. His own fingers reached slowly towards it, trying to reconcile the image with the wistful memory of years ago. A voice rang out, unexpectedly loud and Will jumped, startled.

“However did you find this place? Did Chiyoh tell you?”

Hannibal had come up behind him, stealthily, Lito at his heels.

Will turned to face him, annoyed.

“Why are you creeping up behind me like that?” he demanded. “And are you training our dog to be stealthy too?”

Hannibal patted Lito affectionately.

“If you won’t hunt with me, maybe Lito will”, he replied in the way of a joke, but Will could sense the underlying seriousness. “How did you find this place?” he repeated.

“I was led here in the night, by gleaming lights”, Will answered, as vaguely as possible, hoping to frustrate Hannibal.

But Hannibal only nodded.

“Fireflies”, he smiled. “There were a lot of them here when I was a child. This here used to be my cochlear garden. I see the snails are still thriving, as they are everywhere on the estate. Remarkably resilient creatures, snails. And very tasty.”

Hannibal bent to study them, and Will found he couldn’t hold on to his earlier annoyance.

“When I first came here, I slept outdoors. I made a fire, and in the night, I found this place – they were swarming around it. It was like I strayed into a dream. It was beautiful, but – unseely.”

“Unfortunate?” Hannibal inquired, raising an eyebrow at the choice of word.

“…Unholy”, Will clarified, “in a sad, tragic way, yes.” He couldn’t remember where he had heard the strange word or why it was the best choice to describe his experience at the fountain, and the discovery of the hand imprint in the concrete. He remembered he was wearing gloves when he had touched it. He traced it now, slowly, with his bare fingers. He braced himself for a swell of emotion or pain, but he only felt coldness and damp.

Hannibal was watching him, expression inscrutable.

“I did not murder my sister, Will”, he said brusquely.

“No”, Will agreed, trying to focus on shivery frail impressions, dancing just out of reach like figments of dust in the wind. “No, you didn’t. It’s more complicated than that. You did not murder her yourself, but you were not entirely without fault in her getting killed. I can’t yet grasp the circumstances but - ; you made peace with her on her passing. You made peace with her by consuming her. But you want to forget because this is the one thing that does not fit in the carefully constructed web of your existence, of your _art_. A web which you have woven yourself and continue to weave. But you can’t forget, you can only – lock the memories away and make music on the hallways to cover the sound of screams –“

“How do you know about the screams?”

“You told me yourself. _‘Screams fill some of these places but the corridors do not echo screaming. Because I hear music.’_ You were more open with me when we were in different time zones of each other. You reached out to me, as I reached out to you. Isn’t that how I found you?”

Hannibal straightened, from where he had been examining the snails.

“Notwithstanding past mistakes, I will not allow you to see this part of me”, he said shortly.

“This wasn’t our understanding”, Will protested.

“We didn’t have an understanding”, Hannibal replied. “You have decided, on a whim, to bring us here, on some romantic notion. As you decided to throw us off a cliff once, for the purely dramatic flair of it, and consequences be damned.”

“And you – the only person in the world to appreciate such actions for their aesthetic value – you indulged me.”

“And I still do. But that doesn’t give you the right to wrest out of me any more than I’m willing to give you.”

“You, Hannibal, it was you who asked me to save you. Do you remember that moment, or are we not allowed to ever speak of it again?”

“I remember, and we may speak of it.”

“How then can I save you, if there are shadows in your past which you refuse to reveal to me? How can I even try?”

“The only way you can save me is by not denying my nature – and yours. _Share_ with me. Like you once made me believe you did.” The flicker of hurt passed from Hannibal’s face to Will’s like a live wire, at the memory. “And then like you truly did, on the cliff that night. Your brush with madness in your encounter with the dragon was so exhilarating, it shocked you right back into the cage of your righteousness, precisely because it was so empowering, so beautiful, it felt so frightfully good. The dragon had a hold of you then, and tormented you, and I cast him out. I have only ever, Will, asked for your company, and your acceptance – of me, of yourself, of what we could be together. I told you as much on the cliff that night. Yet you only ever dealt in halves. You offer a part of yourself, yet guard fiercely against conquest of others. You reject me, yet you cling to me. You demand my loyalty and love, and then you seek to deceive me. You have me deny my nature, then you arouse the monster in me with a remarkable gift. And in return, you ask for the greatest gift of all – you wish to know my innermost secrets. What _is it_ , Will, really, that you want?”

Hannibal took a few menacing steps forward, and Will involuntarily backed away.

Hannibal’s lip curled in aristocratic contempt.

“Is it base curiosity that drives you, Will?”

Will paled with anger.

“I told you – whether you believe me or not – I only want to help you. I may not be perfect, I know I’m struggling, but you are not an easy man to live with either, Hannibal, you’re just not!”

Hannibal shrugged as if the argument did not matter.

“Those shadows in my past are only revealed to the worthy. You have not proven trusted.”

Will staggered another step back, in devastated hurt.

“Hannibal, what will it take to convince you that I lo-“

“You love me, I know. I believe it. But you also hate, and resent. There are reaches of yourself you have not yielded to me. And you expect me to bare myself to you? You may have the advantage of me yet, and you may even obtain the knowledge of what I do not reveal willingly – but this will never give you the power over me that you seek.”

“You speak to me like I’m your enemy, Hannibal. Are we back in that old game?”

“I am speaking to the part of you that has never stopped being my enemy.”

Will considered this momentarily, then shook his head.

“No…it’s more than this. This is somehow about me. There is something here that you don’t want _me_ to know.”

He raised his eyes to Hannibal, but he had already turned away from him. He sat heavily on the edge of the fountain, looking down at the shuffling snails.

“Please, leave me. I would like to sit here alone for a while.”

Will hesistated for a beat, then nodded, defeated, and started off slowly back towards the castle.

~

That night, the castle was shaken from its hinges. Will was shocked out of his sleep by a thundering slam which echoed from the roots to the tip of the castle. For a few seconds, in the darkness, he thought he was in the belly of a beast at the bottom of the ocean, so inescapable was the darkness and so deafening the unnatural silence which followed in the wake of the noise. And then the sound came again, horrid in its startling magnitude. Someone was pounding on the door of the castle – but no, it couldn’t have been _someone_ , the noise was too loud, too inhuman. No person could have the strength to make the entire castle reverberate with such a hum. A cold shiver gripped Will – was it midnight, was it the witching hour? Were ghosts really about? Everything - the cold, unfamiliar room, the gloomy weather, Hannibal’s stubborn reluctance and resentment, conspired to make Will feel very isolated and frightened. The noise came yet again, and this time Will’s mind provided the vision of the Ravenstag slamming himself against the door with his horns. His eyes by now marginally accustomed to the darkness, Will looked in Hannibal’s direction. He followed the path of his eyes with his hands, wanting to grip Hannibal, shake him, ask him what was happening, why was he _allowing_ this to happen. _Hannibal wasn’t in the room._ His absence should have been glaring to Will immediately, if he hadn’t been so distracted and terrified by the noises – but now Will realized – that was partly _why_ he had been so terrified. Now Will remembered with cold dread that Hannibal had not returned to the house and Will had gone to bed without him. The fear for himself, mingled now with the fear for Hannibal, was intense enough to paralyze him but it spurned him into frantic action instead.

He leapt out of bed and made his stumbling way in the darkness to peer cautiously out the window.

Lights reflected in his widened eyes.

Will pulled away from the sight of the windows and slowly slid down to the floor, eyes darting about in wild confusion, trying to make sense of what he had seen.

There were men with torches outside. The repeated noise he had heard was that of thick tree branch being hurled against the doors like a battering ram. It was an _invasion_. Had he time-travelled to the days when this castle was in its infancy?

…Where was Hannibal? Hannibal had stayed away ever since their argument at the fountain, and Will had eaten and gone to sleep without him, assuming that Hannibal wanted to further punish him (for what?) or make Will look for him (he was probably with Chiyoh at the lodge) and decided for once not to give him the satisfaction of playing his games. But now Will was forced to rethink the situation. What if he wasn’t at the lodge? What if he was in danger? No – the men below wouldn’t be looking for him, otherwise. But were they looking for him? Aside from the battering ram, they were strangely quiet, or else the sturdy walls and high double windows muffled the sounds. _Why else would they be here_? Will stood up again and studied the crowd below more intently. They looked angry and determined. In fact, they looked like they had gathered for a lynching. They were not shouting, but Will could pick up a restless clamour. The battering ram was driven into the door at regular intervals in organized fashion by a few of the men. The rest waited patiently. The orderly and focused assembly made Will more uneasy than than the loud ravings of a chaotic mob. A chaotic mob, driven to destruction for its own sake was easy to divert or disperse. But these people looked like they believed themselves on a holy mission and who was here to inspire such righteous anger – who was ever able to do so? God, what has _he_ done now? What had he done all those years ago?

Even now, sick with fear that Hannibal might get hurt or taken away from him, Will felt a part of him twitch with the desire to join the people below. He saw himself descending like an avenging angel, the crowd parting mutely to let him pass. ‘Come. I will lead you to him’, he’d say, and they’d all follow.

It seemed redundant to consider otherwise – they were here for Hannibal Lecter and they were here to kill him, or banish him. Judging by their mood, killing was more likely.

Will belatedly remembered Hannibal’s words. _“The people know me there. They’ll be looking for me. It’s dangerous.”_

And with that, came the memory of Hannibal’s defeated apathy on the steps of their neighbours’ house, back home. A tremor ran through Will which had nothing to do with fear or righteousness, his entire being steeled with the desire to protect his strange and singular monster – yes, even from a mob of strangers in unfamiliar surroundings – no, _especially so_.

He took a deep breath, quickly got dressed in the darkness and picked up the flashlight, lighting it furtively, away from the window. He picked up a travelling bag from the floor and rummaged in it, pausing slightly as his fingers ran thoughtfully over the object he was looking for, – a knife – his own _,_ a gift from Hannibal for the second year anniversary of the fateful night of the cliff plunge. The custom-made knife, with original leather sheath, stainless steel blade and stag handle, was inscribed with the momentous quote: “Till we attain to write threescore, this is the second of our reign.” Will had been delighted with the gift, and touched by Hannibal’s way of paying due tribute and consideration to the Event; although he never used it, Will liked having the knife around.

Now Will ran his fingers over the handle, nodding with a slight smile at the memory, then tucked it in his belt; it would be christened tonight, if all went well – and even if it went wrong, it still would be.

He climbed down the stairs, his heart pounding its own battering ram inside his chest, reminding him that he was in a foreign country, unfamiliar with the language and customs, about to face hostile locals.

He pulled the lock on the heavy door and swung it open.

_Do not show fear._

They looked even more menacing up close. Will counted eighteen faces.

A series of anger murmurs arose as they caught sight of Will – out of which ‘Hannibal Lecter’ were the only words he could understand. But then he realized that this was the only thing they said – over and over, on different tonalities, in different voices, the gathering of men only repeated the name of ‘Hannibal Lecter’. It was like a prayer or an exorcism. An undercurrent of insanity rippled through the crowd and Will felt it in his bones with a deep shudder. He forced himself to shake it off.

“I am NOT Hannibal Lecter”, he called out, loudly and severely. “Let me through. Let me pass.”

There was silence – the people had stopped murmuring, and the makeshift battering ram was set aside, but their faces did not register understanding or assent.

“You need to leave. You are trespassing on a private property”, Will continued. “Does anyone of you speak English?”

That seemed to sting because one of them piped up:

“We speak English alright” – followed by other scattered assents.

“We’re not _barbarians_ ”, said another.

“Could’ve fooled me”, Will retorted sarcastically. “Because this is standard barbarian practice.”

“So why don’t you call the police?” Will heard a challenge.

This was picked up immediately by others.

“Go on, call the police, call the police, call them.”

“I don’t want this to end badly,” Will cut in sharply, refusing to be intimidated.

“Who are you?” the first man said. “Where is he? Where is Hannibal Lecter?”

“He is not here,” Will answered.

“And who are you?” the man repeated. “His doorman? His whore? We know he’s come back. He’s been seen.” He tried to push his way inside, but Will pushed him back, almost making him topple over. As the man straightened himself with a mutinous look, readying himself for another try, Will felt reassuringly for the knife at his belt. He was ready.

“No!” A sudden angry cry stopped the first man. Another had stepped forward. He was older than the rest and the others seemed to defer to him.

“You’re a fool if you go inside”, he said. “He’s waiting for you in there, he’s gonna cut off your balls and serve them to you on a platter. It’s what he wants. No, no. We’re gonna burn this dump to the ground. And him in it.”

Will burst into laughter.

“This building is heavy, resilient stone. But please do try. You might succeed in warming it a little. It’s frightfully cold inside.”

“I imagine it is”, the older man said, sharply, turning his eyes to Will. “Cold like a grave. Cold like hell. Nothing can warm it because nothing can warm the devil’s heart.”

“Why do you hate Hannibal Lecter so much? What has he done to you?”

“I just told you”, the older man sneered. “He’s the devil.”

“Ohh!” Will exclaimed, with mock relish. “Well, okay then.”

“You may laugh, and you may mock. But he will have the last laugh, at fools like you, who pretend true evil can be brought to heel like a bitch, or be held by your pathetic gulags. We will cleanse this place with fire.”

“Alright”, Will nodded, still derisively. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’m gonna go take a walk. Being woken up in the middle of the night by all this yammering has given me a headache.”

He set off along the path slowly, mimicking a lack of concern, while expecting to be stopped at any second – but, surprisingly, no one barred his way or questioned him. He immediately knew a few would detach themselves from the crowd and choose to follow him. Let them. Dividing them was the only choice he had. He had no intention of leading them in the direction of the lodge, where he suspected Hannibal might be. Instead he led them deeper into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines Hannibal had inscribed on Will’s knife are from John Donne’s poem “The Anniversary”.
> 
> The line ‘fools like you who think….evil can be held by your pathetic gulags”, is paraphrased from The X Files episode Grotesque.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may contain trigger-y stuff - without revealing too much of the plot, it has to do with claustrophobia. The good news is you'll be able to see it coming and skip the more descriptive parts. It's in the beginning towards middle part, so after the middle, it should be ok to read. Thanks!

They really weren’t as stealthy as they thought they were. Two of them went ahead, to bar Will’s way, one stayed behind, and the last followed Will closely.

Will led them steadily deeper into the forest, then in circles, then retracing his steps, and when he tired of the game, he came to an abrupt halt. The man following him the closest no longer even bothered to keep his cover, instead tailed him openly. When Will stopped, he advanced on him with a swagger.

Will smoothly took out the knife and slowly turned. The ground was his own and he held it, resolute and sharp, with a new-found focus and a barely restrained sense of his latent brutality. Something in his mind shifted and reset. Facing Will stood a man wearing a cocky grin, a red plaid shirt and leather pants; it was the man who had protested they were not barbarians. He couldn’t have been more than thirty. No, that’s not who Will faced. He faced an _enemy._ Beneath those ugly clothes, there were muscles and tendons pulsing with tension, heart racing erratically, blood coursing and ready to make a splash. Meat ready to –

“You really are his whore”, red-shirt taunted, eyes on the knife in Will’s hand. “Taught you a lot, did he?”

“You have no idea”, Will answered, calmly, although his eyes flashed briefly in anger. He tightened his grip, but made no first move to strike. He felt, with shining certainty that he was in absolute control, and held power not only over his meager enemy, but over the very elements surrounding him. Everything was in his favour. Even if his opponent took out a gun right now, he would still hold the upper hand. He _couldn’t lose_. He wondered briefly if this is how Hannibal felt most of the time.

Red-shirt snorted. He exposed his belt with a flourish and produced a knife of his own.

“Do you really want to do this, boy? I’m good with this little pig-poker. I’ve cut my fair share of pigs.”

“Pigs are easy. The question is – have you cut anything else?”

“Oh, pretty much anything that goes on four legs.”

“I see. Now, if I were to cut someone – mind you, I never _did_ (Will scoffed in mock derision that he could ever be accused of such a thing), but if I _were,_ – I’d restrict to those who walk on two legs and who use their cutting skills indiscriminately. Such as yourself.”

“Oh, two legs, four legs – if you can do it to one, you can do it to the other.”

“Yeah, I heard you guys like to do that. ‘Do it’ to all sorts.”

An angry bellow from Red-shirt as the calmly spoken insult registered, and then he lunged at Will, with barely any coordination.

Will sprinted out of his way and then launched an attack of his own, sinking the knife easily in the soft flesh of the man’s upper thigh. Blood spurted. The man lowered his hands to grasp at the wound and Will took the opportunity to slash a vicious straight line from one side of his chest to the other. The knife Hannibal had given him really was marvellous. He hadn’t applied much pressure and the gash wasn’t wide, but it was deep, and, judging by the amount of blood pouring out, very effective. The man staggered back in shock, his previous swagger all but lost.

“Why are you protecting him?” he frowned at Will. “Do you have any idea about the monster he is?”

“Oh yes,” Will answered. “Do you?”

He circled him slowly, angling for another hit, and Red-shirt blithered in panic:

“No, no, please! Help! Help!”

He appeared to have forgotten he had allies not very far away, but once the thought registered, he seemed to regain a little courage, if only enough to raise his voice while he kept the knife pointed at Will, hand trembling erratically, ready for a last desperate defense.

The sound of hurried steps approaching through the forest was soon heard, in answer to Red-shirt’s pleas for help, but Will did not attempt to move or duck out of sight. He charged. Yells of startled pain made his ears throb and drops of blood painted his face and torso – the forest and the dark sky spinning wildly around him. The mad dream ended when he felt something sharp impale him from behind, like the memory of a jagged rock piercing the small of his back. He registered no pain but he crumpled to his knees, incredulous that it could end like this. The men around him cheered, and Will struggled to make sense of it, but he couldn’t focus - as he glanced around, the red and the green faded to black. He swayed and fell forward on his face, as they all reached to lay their hands on him.

~

When Will became aware of himself again, the first thing he felt was pain – pain the likes of which he remembered feeling only once in his life. He was lying on a flat surface, it was dark around him, and he couldn’t move. He wasn’t restrained, but he couldn’t shift more than his fingers – and he couldn’t _breathe._

Panic overwhelmed him and along with it came a series of low, pitiful whines, which made his blood chill before he realized they were coming from _him_ – and then he tried to stop, get a grip, tried to _think._

He was trapped.

He was buried alive.

If he stretched his index finger, he could touch a cold, resilient surface, which wouldn’t give, no matter how hard he prodded. The same unyielding pressure pinned his shoulders and chest. He writhed on the spot, fruitlessly. He tried kicking with his feet, and with his head, but all he got were bruises and more pain. He was sweating heavily, the sweat pouring down his body  making his shirt stick to his skin and itch. The small of his back felt uncomfortably wet – he was lying in a pool of more than sweat, and as he struggled to make sense of it, the memory returned, of being stabbed, and with it the now-fully conscious sensation of the main source of pain – and the uncomfortable revelation that it was his own blood which was pooling, cold and humid, at the small of his back. Small favours - he might just bleed out before he could die by asphyxiation. Apparently beyond his conscious control, the whining had started again, helpless and strange even to his own ears. His body was trembling convulsively – he was going into shock.

Gradually, very dimly, he became aware of another sound, and as he fought to master his panic, he realized he could distinguish words. Someone was calling out to him.

“Will”, it said. “Will. Shhh.”

Oh god. He wasn’t alone. They had come for him. They knew his name.

“Please”, Will finally croaked – words did not come easy. He would beg for a quick death. They couldn’t be so merciless.

“Will”, said the voice, with vivid relief. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Hannibal – it was his voice calling out to him – and the appreciation alone was enough to give Will a boost of strength.

“Please”, Will cried, more urgently, “please, help me.”

“It’s alright”, Hannibal repeated, soothingly. “It’ll be alright, Will.”

Will kicked his feet as hard as he was able to against the far-end side of his encasement, then, ignoring the excruciating pain in his back, struggled to bring his knees up as far as he could reach to kick upwards, managing a few dull beatings. He then strained to hear for any answering sound.

But there weren’t any – no tapping of feet, no movement, no answering beat, no reassurances of ‘I’ll get you out of here.’

And suddenly, his chest constricting with it, like the burden of a heavy grave slab weighing him down six feet below, it dawned on Will.

Hannibal wasn’t there to save him.

He was trapped alongside him.

The all-encompassing knowledge and horror of their situation now struck Will full-force.

“Hannibal”, he whined, pitifully. God, please, please, _Hannibal.”_

“Will”, Hannibal’s voice came to him as if from far away, but Will wasn’t listening anymore, his ears were buzzing, he felt lightheaded, and again unable to breathe, he was hyperventilating, his heart pounding and his limbs numb. He was dying. This was it, finally – the long awaited death, it hurt so bad and he was so afraid, much more afraid than a man like him who had been breathing the saccharine aroma of putrefaction for so long had any right to be, and Will struggled with it, clinging to life desperately like futilely trying to grab a vine of greenery just beyond his reach.

Hannibal’s voice came to him, calm and steady, stilling Will’s twitching limbs, breathing air into his tortured lungs.

“Will. You are having a panic attack. Relax. Breathe in – slowly, deeply. _Will”,_ Hannibal’s tone, sudden and loud like a whip, snaked through the corridors of Will’s mind, with such effortless authority that even in his mind-numbing terror, Will snapped to attention.

“I want you to hear me. Hear me _closely_ , Will. Feel me. Your empathy can be both a gift and a curse. Now it’s a gift. Listen to my voice. Focus on me. The sound of my voice. The rhythm of my breathing. My pulse beats strong and steady, Will. I am calm. I am assessing this problem with a sharp mind and a sound body. This problem, like any and all problems I’ve encountered so far, has a solution, and I intend to find it.”

Will allowed his entire being to be flooded by Hannibal’s tranquility, his confidence, the certainty of his invincibility. He couldn’t embrace it so readily as he did earlier, back in the forest, but it allowed him a measure of control over his wavering senses. He took a deep breath of the damp close air, feeling his pulse and heartrate begin to slow down to normal levels.

“Better?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes. I don’t know”, Will answered truthfully. And then, because he couldn’t bear to lie in silence, even though it was useless, he asked: “What happened? Where are we?”

“We are in the dungeon of the castle”, Hannibal answered. “I am close by, Will, but unfortunately, similarly trapped. I saw when they put you inside. When they put me inside, as well. You were unconscious, and wounded. But your stab wound hasn’t hit any major arteries or organs, as far as I could tell at a glance. However, it is of great importance we escape as quickly as we can, as you are likely to die from blood loss if the wound is left unattended.”

“ _Is there_ a way out?”

“There is a trap door above, but it is impossible to open from within. I am currently attempting to find the weak points of this mausoleum I’ve been impromptu innured in. I have faith I will find it.”

“We’ll die like rats”, Will muttered, with gloomy conviction. “They’ll set us on fire, or let us run out of air.”

“No. There is a source of air left to us, there must be, otherwise we’d both be dead by now. In fact, it is this very source which I intend to exploit as soon as I locate it. No, they wouldn’t have me simply die of asphyxia. They mean to starve me to death. A slower and more painful process than cutting off the air supply, and more fitting for what they believe me to be. I repeat, Will - air is not an issue – so do not think on it, or you are liable to trigger another panic attack.”

“I’ll probably die of blood loss before you die of starvation”, Will said, tiredly. “Maybe by then you’d have figured a way out and you’ll get to eat me after all. It would be a fitting end for us.”

Will shifted uncomfortably, trying to explore the outlines of his confining prison, at Hannibal’s suggestion.

“Or maybe you’ll survive-“ A sudden spasm gripped him and he cried out, as the muscle twisted painfully.

“I suggest you limit your movements, Will. You are unfamiliar with the surroundings, and hurt, and physical strain will only make you bleed out faster. Leave the exertion to me.”

“Didn’t they hurt you, Hannibal?” Will wondered incredulously. “They were out for your blood. God, they could’ve ripped you apart, they were so dead set…”

“No. They didn’t lay a finger on me. I think they intended me to be fully conscious and appreciative of this experience.”

“They were pounding on the castle door at night”, Will raved on. “I thought it was ghosts”, he chuckled, a raw desperate sound. “And you – weren’t there. I was so frightened that something had happened to you.”

Whatever air source Hannibal maintained they had, was poor, and precious little air got in. Will was dizzy from lack of oxygen and blood loss.

“I was so scared for you”, he repeated, drowsily. “I was ready to take on the world to protect you.“

“You would have died for me. While wearing my armour”, Hannibal said, with gentle awe, and the pride in his voice made Will’s heart swell, despite their predicament.

“Yes”, he asserted. “Again. And now, here we are.”

“We’ll make it.”

“How?” Will sounded childish and unsure. “How will we make it this time, Hannibal?”

“With skill – and a considerable amount of luck.”

Will did not find the answer amusing.

“You said earlier these are ‘unfamiliar surroundings’ for me – how are these particular circumstances familiar to you, then?”

“They are not”, Hannibal answered quickly. “I was referring in general, to the castle and its grounds – where you are a foreigner and I am not. Although, I was lowered into the depths of this very dungeon, back when I was a child, as a dare. I could make out the scrawlings of age-old prisoners on the walls.”

“Did you often play games like this, when you were a child?” Will inquired carefully.

“Do have the courage to get straight to the point, Will. It’s not like I can walk out on you right now. I am literally trapped in here, with no choice but to hear your cruel interrogation.”

“An interrogation you can still avoid by lying, or keeping silent”, Will pointed out.

“That I can. I can keep quiet and let you hyperventilate to death.”

“Is that what you did to your sister?” Will quipped, with the twisted satisfaction of unexpected cruelty, and a strange certainty that he was not far off. “Did you just sit, quietly, while she died?”

Hannibal made no answer.

“Is that what it was?” Will pressed on. “A dare?”

Silence – except for the faint sounds of Hannibal poking along the confines of his makeshift coffin.

“You put her in harm’s way”, Will went on, relentless. He chased his impressions, afraid he’d lose them, like he did before – this time he _had it_ – or imagined he did. “Like you did with me, so many times. That was a sort of dare too, wasn’t it? Tobias Budge, Randall Tier, Mason Verger. All agents of mortal danger. All opportunities for me to prove myself. God, Hannibal. You love in such strange ways.”

“It only took one time for Mischa,” Hannibal finally said. His voice sounded even, resigned, but it echoed strangely in the room.

“She was a child…”, Will shook his head in the oppresive darkness, in a futile attempt to stop tears from falling.

“I was a child myself. I was no more than twelve.”

“God – what exactly did you do?”

“I let her know me, see me…”

Will shuddered at the familiar words – he gaped into the darkness surrounding him, feeling horror creep on him anew, but for different reasons this time.

“What did you do?” he repeated, faintly.

“I led her to a cliff, and made her look down. God, as you rightly put it, did the rest.”

Hannibal’s steady tone fooled Will into taking his words literally for a few seconds, but as he blinked back the shock, he realized, Hannibal was yet again wrapping everything in fantastic metaphors, like in a protective cocoon. Yet, trapped in the bowels of his family’s ancient dungeon, awaiting death, he was more honest with Will about what had happened then, than he had ever been.

Will cleared his throat and tried another approach:

“Did your sister’s love for you, and your love for her – made you want to forsake your – inclinations?”

“It endeavoured to make me into something I’m not”, Hannibal admitted. “I resented her influence on me. But I never resented her. My suffering at the loss of my sister was real. It still is.”

“God”, Will muttered, as a new sort of understanding dawned on him. “How you must have felt, when I –“

“When you came into my life”, Hannibal interrupted, “into my _ordered_ life, like the destructive mess that you are, bristling with pain and confusion and misguided righteousness, yet altogether too fascinating and insightful, with your lovely, vulnerable, empathy and unlikely purity – so beautiful, and it seemed to me at the time, harmless, like a new, interesting _toy –_ and then you were somehow insinuating yourself into my deepest darkest corners, making me _trust_ you, allowing you to _see me_ , allowing myself the hope, that for _once in my life_ \--“

Will screwed his eyes tightly shut in the darkness, the pain was excruciating. But it wasn’t the pain of the ground pressing on his chest, nor that of the wound in his back – it was the memory of the pain he had felt at Hannibal’s hand, lingering like a phantom limb, it was the memory of Hannibal’s suffering twining and coiling with his own, binding them both together, inextricably.

“And then you betrayed me”, Hannibal pressed on, “and even after I showed you, I gave you a taste of how much it hurt, you defied me, you boasted that you changed me.”

“It hurt so much”, Will whispered. “It still does”, he echoed Hannibal’s previous words.

“Despite your empathy, you will never be able to feel precisely how much it hurt _me_ , Will. How much it still does, indeed.”

“Oh, please”, Will sobbed. “I never meant –“

“To hurt me? Oh, but you did. Whereas I have always meant to hurt you, and never seemed to get around to it properly. Not enough to keep you from coming back for another round.”

“Isn’t that what love is”, Will said, sadly. “We don’t mean to hurt, but we do, and when we do wish to hurt, we end up hurting ourselves. It is true that people don’t usually play the game on such radical notes as we have always favoured, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” Hannibal confirmed. “In mortal danger, again, by your design.”

Will swallowed, admitting the blame. He was responsible for bringing them here – he would be responsible for their deaths.

“Why do they want you?” he wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer from Hannibal. “After all those years – some of the people I’ve seen in that crowd weren’t even born yet at the time when you were here as a child… What grudge could last for so long – or what legend?”

“What did you do?” Will wanted to ask, but what came out instead was “What are you?”

“Whatever else I may be”, Hannibal answered, “I am yours.”

And that shouldn’t have been the perfect answer, it should’ve been wrong, and bad, and unsettling, but Will felt a grim satisfaction, his heart both appeased and exulting.

“We’ll make it out of here”, Will said this time, a newfound optimism in his voice.  “Chiyoh will come for us. Doesn’t she always?”

“I’m afraid this time she will has no reason to. I left her lodge last night with Lito, because I had decided I’d come to the castle after all. I fully intended to let you sleep alone for one night, but in the end I realized I derived as much suffering from my own punishment as I had hoped to inflict on you. A very tedious and repetitive affair, I find”, he commented, displeasure evident in his voice, and Will couldn’t quite help a quiet smirk. “So you see, she believes I am safely back at the castle, she has no reason to think otherwise.”

“Lito! What happened to him?” Will suddenly exclaimed, feeling guilty he could have forgotten about him. He frowned with concern in anticipation of the answer.

“I don’t know”, Hannibal said, quietly, too quietly. “As I approached the castle, and took in what was happening, I was so worried about you, that I acted impulsively.”

“You should have gone back to Chiyoh. The two of you and her rifle might have stood a chance.”

“Perhaps I should have, but, in spite of how things turned out, I am glad I did not. They were carrying you towards the castle, unconscious, and they were discussing among themselves what they’ll do to you. They called you my whore, and said they were going to make you _their_ whore. So naturally, I slit the throats of those who suggested it.”

“Bastards”, Will snarled, fists clenching in anger.

“They deserved it for that appalling rudeness alone, but I couldn’t leave you to get Chiyoh’s help, and risk them molesting you in the meantime.”

“Thank you”, Will murmured. “I did get one of them, you know. I christened my knife – the knife you gave me. It really is a beautiful and useful piece.”

“I am delighted to hear it, and just as delighted that it has served you well”, Hannibal said, and there was indeed a lilt to his voice.

Will offered a smile to the oppressive darkness.

“I did succeed in distracting their attention”, Hannibal continued. “I was the one they were really after, and everything they would have done to you, it would have been to get to me. After I made a blood bath, they shocked me with an electric cattle prod then immobilized me. Then they brought the both of us here.”

“And Lito?” Will insisted.

“He must have ran off at some point in the scuffle. I don’t know”, Hannibal repeated, voice strangely unsure.

Will felt hot fat tears begin to roll from his eyes and failed to contain a sob.

“They must have seen he was with you. If they catch him, they’d-“

“Will. They have no reason to go after the dog. I’m sure he’s alright. I will get us out of here. And then”, he panted with the exertion of struggling to reach or bend – Will could only imagine, “then I promise you, I’ll find him and then I will feed the lot of them to him. And to you.”

“No, you won’t”, Will managed a weak chuckle through his tears. “Oh, this is all my fault – I brought you here, just like you said, on a whim –“

“I will protect you both with my life, Will”, Hannibal interrupted him, with a sudden gentleness which did not belong in Will’s guilty and miserable headspace. He shook his head resolutely, even though Hannibal could not see it, rejecting the sacrifice and the gentleness he did not feel he deserved. “You are my family,” Hannibal stated firmly.

Will no longer tried to stop from crying. He gazed up in the overbearing darkness, strangely lulled by the taste of his own salty tears and the faint noises of Hannibal relentlessly poking and prodding at their indomitable prison.

~

Will blinked awake slowly. For a few seconds, he stared at the brightness above him in sheer disbelief. Then gradually, he became aware – that he was lying in a comfortable bed, clean and pleasantly numb. His midriff was tightly bound with gauze. He was thirsty. This couldn’t be real. He was surely dreaming of that _last time_. Soon, Abigail the ghost would enter his room and chide him for lying to Hannibal. Will made a noise in the back of his throat, just to see if he could. Hurried footsteps were heard and a figure loomed into view. ‘There she is’, Will thought. But no – there was Hannibal. He looked tired but he smiled broadly down at Will, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re awake”, he stated, unnecessarily. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m thirsty”, Will croaked.

“Of course.”

Hannibal took a glass from the table and pressed it to Will’s lips. Will lifted his head a little and took a few hesitant sips. The water cleared his foggy brain enough for him to remember, and he turned wild eyes on Hannibal.

“Hannibal, what happened? How are we _alive_?”

“I told you I’d find a way out of there. And I did – but, I don’t think I could have found a way out of the dungeon itself that would have got you out of there in time – even I don’t have the stamina to carry you on my back as I scale the steep walls. So I suppose you can say Chiyoh did save the day, by spiriting us up from there in something slightly larger than a bucket,” Hannibal finish with a smile and a flourish.

“Ah”, Will frowned. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“You missed some good, funny times”, Hannibal grimaced, in a scarily accurate parody of Mason Verger.

Will’s frown deepened.

“You were mostly unconscious, or unaware of your surroundings”, Hannibal continued, more seriously. “You had lost so much blood. Your breathing was so faint, I was sure I’d lose you. I was still not entirely certain you’d make it – but today for the first time, you seem clear-eyed and aware. You’re out of the woods, Will.”

The choice of words was amusing to Will and he huffed.

“Wait a minute”, he said, remembering. “You said Chiyoh wouldn’t think to check up on us, she’d have no reason to suspect anything was wrong.”

“And so she would have, if it weren’t for Lito. That night we got separated, and he ran off, some of the people did give chase, and they must have thrown stones at him. Luckily they didn’t think him important enough to shoot at. He managed to evade them, even though his hind leg apparently took a hit, and he made his way back to the lodge. Seeing him without me, and hurt, Chiyoh realized that something was wrong.”

“So Lito – is alright?”

“Of course. A barely noticeable limp, but nothing that time and good food won’t fix. He’s out hunting pheasants with Chiyoh right now, but you’ll see him as soon as they come back.”

Will slumped further into the pillow in grateful relief.

“Good dog. Good, clever dog.”

“Yes”, Hannibal beamed, as if Will had complimented his child. “He played as big a part in saving you, as myself, or Chiyoh. Apart from alerting Chiyoh, he also scented that we were in the dungeon, so she could find us there. Chiyoh said he’s a good tracker, and she started to take him hunting. He’s a fast learner.”

“Well, he did learn Italian faster than me. Hold on, just how long have I been unconscious?”

“It’s been touch and go for three days. You’ve been in and out of consciousness and not making much sense. You kept calling for Abigail. I was reluctant to stray very far from you. But now that you are feeling better, I can. And I will – tomorrow”, Hannibal finished, vaguely, but Will immediately caught his meaning.

“So those people….”

Hannibal shrugged.

“When Chiyoh arrived to the castle in the early morning, there was no one there, and no one around. They had probably gone back to their homes, content that they had taken care of us and that no one would find us, but they won’t be difficult to trace.”

“Hannibal – they believe you are dead. Let the legend die like this. Let’s move on. They have buried the past that night. And we have to let it die. For their simple minds, let your story end here.”

“You would deny me this?”

“I don’t have the strength to join you”, Will said, through gritted teeth.

“Then I will not ask you to join me”, Hannibal sneered, in aristocratic dismissal.

Will reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“But I would want to. And not to stop you. To help you.”

Hannibal looked askance at him, suspicion evident on his features.

“I mean it. For what they wanted to do to us. For all their sanctimonious crap. For hurting Lito. If anyone deserves to be elevated in death, it’s them. I’d prop their standing corpses inside mounds of earth, walled in on all sides, plant flowers on them, like topiaries, and set them around the castle – to guard what they would destroy.”

Hannibal lifted his hand, which Will still gripped in his, and pressed a gentle kiss to Will’s knuckles. He inhaled wonderingly the new scent of Will’s conviction.

Will grinned brightly up at him.

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“If my story is to end”, Hannibal said reverently, in the way of an answer, “yours is just beginning. Where you will go from here, I can only guide, and advise. I cannot and I will not push. I cannot assume to grab and pull at such a magnificent and unpredictable thing as you are.”

But Will shook his head.

“Don’t say that.”

His eyes searched for something in the room.

“Did you find my knife, Hannibal?”

Hannibal nodded, then went to extract the knife from a glass case, where it had obviously been placed with great care. He took it out and handed it to Will.  

Will smiled, as he ran his finger over the handle, remembering the night he had looked for it in his bag, his fears and then his exultation and the quiet conviction of his invincibility. He hadn’t been all that wrong. And the only reason they’d almost been defeated, him and Hannibal, was that they had broken their promise to each other. _Together, or not at all._   

Will looked up at Hannibal, who was obviously expecting Will to back down or defend himself against Hannibal’s adoration of the darkness within him. But Will surprised him yet again.

“Don’t say that”, Will repeated. “It’s not my story, it’s _ours.”_ He tapped the handle of the knife. “Remember this? We’ll write threescore. This was the second of our reign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- I almost made myself cry about Lito as well, even though I knew he was okay, duh DUH. Sometimes I hate myself, why, WHY can’t I write fluffity fluff like a normal person 
> 
> \-- Re: Mischa and The 'Event' I'm sorry but I wanted to keep the story of that deliberately ambiguous. I bow to the superior talent and insight of Bryan Fuller. I loved how he made it ambiguous while giving little ~~hints~~ and I tried to sorta do the same. (and hell yes I do know that is very frustrating to the reader, but it’s also wickedly effective in ‘’keeping the mystery intact’’! *ducks to avoid rotten vegetables)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem at the beginning from A.S. Byatt’s ‘City of Is’.

 

_Again he stirs, again he cries,_

_"The Ocean comes, and we must rise."_

_"Go to the window, tell to me_

_The height and movement of the sea_

_His colour and his strategy."_

 

“You will rest and heal, dear love. I will stalk and prepare. And when you are healthy and ready, we will hunt. And then I shall prepare a feast. It will be just for the four of us, but I’m sure I couldn’t wish for better company.”

Hannibal’s sedate tone reached Will as he was half asleep, and he pressed closer to Hannibal in quiet assent.

“Is Chiyoh willing to partake of it too?” he inquired.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Hannibal answered, with genuine surprise, and the corners of Will’s mouth lifted in a smile.

Hannibal tightened his arms around him carefully, mindful of his wound. He mouthed at the nape of his neck, then inhaled deeply, breathing in Will’s scent.

“You are on the mend”, Hannibal revealed. “But you smell sweet with fever – is it the illness or a fever of your own making?”

“Probably from all the delicious wine at dinner. That and the happiness of us having made it out alive.”

Will reflected how their dinner that evening was so different from their oppressive first dinner on the estate. With Will awake, and joining them at the table, it seemed almost a celebration. Hannibal was all charm and smiles, Chiyoh, content and serene like a benign goddess and Will, jovially partaking in the conversation with bright eyes and easy laughter. Lito, for once not joining in the festivities, was sleeping near the fire, exhausted by the hunt and the plentiful food. Hannibal insisted on feeding both Will and Lito extra helpings to speed their bodies’ natural healing and neither of them bothered to argue.

As he was drifting off, Hannibal’s previous words replayed in Will’s mind: ‘a fever of your own making?’ – and Will’s eyes snapped open, contrite:

“What do you mean, of my own making?”

“You are fevered with dreams of spilling blood”, Hannibal answered immediately.

Will frowned.

“Recently, my dreams are of being trapped in small spaces,” he replied, with distaste.

“Your nightmares, maybe”, Hannibal countered. “But not your waking dreams. There is a violent melody behind your words and the background in your mind palace is the colour of spilled blood.”

Will flinched in the tight circle of Hannibal’s arms at the sound of this strange assertion. With Hannibal’s words came the consciousness of the very things he was describing, like a veil had been pulled from Will’s reluctant eyes. Not a new thing anymore, but never not uncanny to Will: the quality of Hannibal’s knowledge of him, his ability to articulate truths about himself he was slow to realize on his own. _I never know myself as well as I do when I’m with you._ Will had indeed been walking around ever since he blinked to awareness earlier in the day, with the subconscious anticipation and preparation of spilling blood, like the involuntary microspasm of muscles before a high jump. Will’s mind and body were primed for the kill – already lowkey experiencing it in the subconscious, as Hannibal had accurately assumed, and Will’s restless euphoria was a manifestation of it, as much as it was relief for having escaped an impossible situation.

Will swallowed.

“It is a wonderful feeling, is it not?” Hannibal said. “Planning, expecting – the delight of anticipation almost as potent as the delight of the act itself.”

Will had never before planned murder in cold blood. It was another first, and yet another offering to Hannibal, who didn’t seem to be satisfied until he had all of Will’s firsts and all of his lasts.

The boundaries of Will Graham were realigning, with his permission this time – the furniture was moved because a new creature needed space to grow. A new sense of right and wrong was emerging from his possessive love for Hannibal, and Hannibal’s tight-lipped adoration of him in the wake of his near-death which still plagued his nightmares. The carefully woven shroud of Will’s morality was gaping open to reveal a creature too long thought to be dead, twisting in the trappings of its chrysalis.

Whatever would emerge would be of Will’s own making – with Hannibal coaxing it warily but hopefully, like a lovelorn pied piper.

“Does your armour have a snake on it?” Will asked instead, then laughed when Hannibal blinked at him for a few seconds in confused silence.

“I’m supposed to wear your armour in battle, aren’t I? And the crest of your house is a snake. Very Harry Potter.”

Hannibal rolled his eyes.

“Snakes are prized creatures,” he offered. “The žaltys, the grass snakes, are symbols of prosperity and fertility in Lithuanian mythology. The snake is the guardian of the house. When one encounters a snake, one does not crush it, but feeds it warm milk and brings it home to live on the hearth, for the good fortune of the household.”

“I doubt Lito would allow it to thrive.”

“We have our own guardian, as you noticed – on the crest.”

Hannibal then told Will the folk story of Egle the Queen of Serpents.

_If alive – may the sea foam milk._

_If dead – may the sea foam blood._

“If only Jack had known this story. All he’d have had to do is turn up on the shore and see that rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated.”

Hannibal chuckled and caressed Will’s arms slowly. Will knew his own transparent shift to lighthearted derision after Hannibal had so cunningly exposed his true mood did not fool Hannibal, who saw it for the diversion mechanism it was. And Hannibal was calm and patient; as ever, his self-possession induced a similar tranquility in Will.

“Also, I thought you had a kingdom under the sea, so there’s that,” Will added, then turned in Hannibal’s arms and fell fast asleep.

~

Towards the end of the following week, Hannibal returned home with a grave and preoccupied face, and told Will:

“I have been seen. We have to be ready. They will be coming.”

“With torches and battering rams, like the last time?”

“Now with holy water and crosses, if I know them well. They have seen me as I wished them to, and they probably believe I have returned as a malevolent ghost.”

“Will you prove them wrong?”

“No. Let them die still believing in my supernatural abilities. They are avid believers in God, so I’ll play the Devil to suit them.”

“They won’t be the only ones believing in your supernatural abilities.”

“We must prepare the theatre of their deaths.”

“How will they die?”

“The manner of their deaths is irrelevant; but their elevation in death is something I’ve carefully considered. I can think of no better fate for them than the one you already proposed. Taking root in the place they came to destroy, trapped for eternity, like unseen guardians of the castle and the estate. Human topiaries.”

“No one will know their fate, except for us.”

“Any others will look and admire the craftsmanship of the decoration. We will look and _know_.”

“We will look and _know_ ”, Will repeated Hannibal’s words, as if in a trance. “What is the plan?”

“We will discuss it after dinner, with Chiyoh.”

~

Hannibal had been right.

No sooner had darkness fully set in, than a crowd was heard approaching. They came with noise and clamour, as if seeking to encourage themselves, and drive away the silence.

Hannibal stood at one of the high windows, dressed in white, unmoving, looking down at them.

A single murmur rose and was repeated among the men below, at the sight of him. They looked restless and uneasy, but no less determined.

“What are they saying?” Will asked Hannibal.

“Piktosios dvasios. It means ‘evil spirits’”, Hannibal replied. A smile lingered momentarily on his features. “Told you.”

Will couldn’t help an answering smirk.

“They’re about to see just how evil.”

The crowd pushed against the heavy door and this time it gave easily. They poured in.

“Time to descend, I think”, Hannibal said to Will.

 

Inside, a circle of candles lent startling brightness to the ancient hall. The men advanced warily. They were carrying crosses, as Hannibal had correctly assumed. Some of them also held herbs, which they occasionally dipped in vials, and baptized the room with what Will could only assume was holy water. They murmured under their breaths and crossed themselves at regular intervals. Will, standing in the shadows, choked back a hysterical bout of laughter.

Hannibal stepped out of the darkness, into the circle of light. He was immediately showered with water from several directions. He blinked, then smoothly reached to twist the neck of the man closest to him. The others stood rooted on the spot in terror, seemingly unable to react, while Hannibal reached for yet another, and sank his teeth into his neck, ripping his jugular. Throwing the convulsing body aside, he silently turned to choose his next victim, blood steadily pouring out of his mouth, and down his pale, stone-still face. He didn’t speak a word, and no sound escaped him – he was not out of breath from his exertion, indeed he hardly seemed to breathe at all.

Will slowly stepped forward from the shadows to join him. They faced their enemies in deadly silence.

The crowd was stunned into blind panic, even as Will and Hannibal pounced. They were useless at defending themselves, they tore and scratched like trapped animals, faces contorting in abject fear, any weapons they may have had on them completely forgotten. Then suddenly, as one, the crowd seemed to reach a decision, and those who could still use their feet turned abruptly, and broke into a run, towards the door they had too easily breached – they could take defeat if it meant they could keep their life and their sanity – but they didn’t make it far: a rain of bullets stood in their way and safety. Chiyoh stood at a high arch, gunning down whoever attempted an escape into the now inviting darkness outside the castle. None who attempted to dodge her bullets made it through the door. The others paused, and ran back into the circle of candles, reluctant to risk it. The only other way which remained to them was into the unseen bowels of the castle, and that way, fraught with uncertainty and danger, was through Hannibal and Will.

Hannibal and Will faced at least a dozen men but never had the odds been more in their favour.

They moved together – they were together – precise and deadly, their movements feral, like a two-headed beast.

Their enemies were not men, but scared rabbits, armed not with steel and blade but with tools of superstitions. They were easy prey.

One of them fought madly to get past them, into the uncertain darkness of the castle, anything preferable to the massacre being dealt in the hallway, in the sparse light of the candles. He almost succeeded – but having stumbled across a few bodies, he bumped into Will, who caught him and fiercely pushed him back. The man raised his eyes to look at him, seeing up close Will’s pupils widening with excitement and adrenaline, the strain of his heaving breaths and the warmth radiating from his body – the spell was broken. The man’s face contorted in hateful recognition.

“Whore”, he snarled, and spat at Will.

Hannibal turned, having snapped the neck of the last one standing, and stepped over, cracking the spine of a crawling man along the way, but before he could get there, Will had plunged the knife into the man’s heart. The body slumped forward, and Will caught him, breathing heavily, and set him down, in the pool of his own blood. Hannibal watched Will with a look of quiet adoration which mirrored his countenance on the cliff top that strange night when they killed the dragon together.

Will met his look with his own intense gaze, chest still rising and falling rapidly, pulse beating madly in his ears.

“See? See? My beloved Will - finally – “ Hannibal’s voice came to him, as if over the roaring of waves.

A heady sense of power, a rush of endorphins and stars flickered behind Will's eyelids. He laughed in exhilaration.

His eyes swept over the carnage before them, with no regret, guilt or pity. It felt good.

The battle was over but there was still work to be done.

~

Later still, when the bodies had been artfully arranged by Hannibal and Will, into human topiaries of their own design, beautiful and imposing, like modern arrangements meant to rejuvenate the quaint surroundings, both Hannibal and Will exhausted and smeared with caked blood and sweat, Hannibal said, reverently, and seemingly out of nowhere, like one of their grand declarations in the days when they still danced around each other:

“You could do whatever you wanted to me”, he told Will, “and find in me only joy and quiet acceptance.”

Will took this in with a slow blink.

“But you’re the one who changed me, Hannibal,” he remarked.

“We have changed each other”, Hannibal admitted finally, and the words were like an apology for the pain they dealt each other in another world – they spoke of Hannibal’s new hues of Will’s making.

“Remember that day, at the Uffizi Gallery?”

“If I saw you everyday, forever, Will – I would remember that time,” Hannibal repeated the familiar words, with a smile. “The room dedicated to it in my memory palace, hosting every smile and shadow which crossed your face back then, every nuance in your voice, every change in the colour of your eyes – is almost as resplendent as the room hosting the Primavera.”

Will nodded, returning Hannibal’s adoring look, still riding the high of the cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins coursing through his body. His heart was overflowing, but words did not come easily to him to express the myriad of feelings he was drowning in.

“I love you so much”, he finally settled for saying. It was devastatingly and utterly true. “I can’t imagine living without you.”

“And you won’t ever have to”, Hannibal assured him. 

~

The next day, Will felt confident enough to take Lito for a walk all the way beyond the edge of the forest. He passed the dilapidated fountain with its sad angel and the little red mark in the stone, he passed the gathering of snails, and further off, the place where he had camped when he had first come here. He passed the place where he had used Hannibal’s knife on the man who liked to poke pigs, a man who reminded Will of Mason Verger enough to awaken in him the old righteous fury, and with that first cut, the dam had broken, enveloping Will in dreams of blood. He walked on aimlessly, lost in his thoughts, and saw, too late, the bulk of a familiar looking man – the last person he’d have expected to see on this earth, let alone in those surroundings.

“I can’t believe you made the mistake of returning here. Right into my waiting arms.”

Will gaped at Jack Crawford standing right in front of him in comical wonder, and Jack smiled, enjoying his reaction, before he prepared to deal a swift and decisive punch.

Considering their previous encounter, Jack obviously didn’t think more than one would be needed to bring Will down.

But Will was no longer the violence-shy boy who allowed himself to be subdued by Jack in Florence. He jumped aside, and hit back, with a strength and fury Jack obviously did not expect, and soon a stunned Jack was pinned to the ground, while Will sat on the back of his knees, tying his arms efficiently behind him. He then sat up, while Jack struggled to sit, back propped to a tree. Lito sniffed at his legs dubiously. Will called him to heel.

“Florence and now Aukštaitija”, Jack huffed. “The only two places you’d have to be fools to revisit. Or foolishly overconfident? Or perhaps you didn’t think we’d care to check.”

“Who’s we, Jack?”

“My ‘we’ no longer includes you, Will.”

“That became abundantly clear when you beat me up.”

“I should have killed you outright. And Hannibal too, as soon as he walked through that door.”

“You should have, but you can’t. You’re out of the FBI, but you’re still bound by its laws. It’s who you are. You couldn’t kill me in cold blood.”

“Whereas you…”

“I was never one of you.”

“You sure as hell pretended well enough. That’s what you _do_ , isn’t it? Is there even a real _you_ , Will? A real self? Or is it all just pretend and influence?”

Will snorted.

“See, those words may have hurt me once. But not now. Nothing you can say to me now can hurt me. In fact, to prove I don’t feel at all threatened by you, I’m going to do something incredible. I’m going to let you go.”

True to his word, Will bent abruptly and cut Jack’s bonds with his knife.

“There. This is how little you scare me.”

He turned his back on Jack, unconcerned, whistled for Lito and walked off, without a single look behind him. Jack didn’t follow.

~

Will opened the door with enough force to have Hannibal looking up at him in silent inquiry. He stared Hannibal down, pinning him with a severely intent look.

“Your ex girlfriend and confidante…. Whatever she was, the one who was with you ‘behind the veil’…. She scored one over you.”

Will couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Hannibal’s eyes widened momentarily in surprise.

“Bedelia? Has she returned?”

Will gave a short laugh.

“Oh no. But she failed to keep her end of the bargain.”

Hannibal made a small non-committal sound, which Will read as confusion or denial.

“Jack’s alive”, Will clarified. “I told you she couldn’t be trusted. I told you”, he couldn’t help stressing, with apparent relish.

“How did he know to look for us here? Where is he now?” Hannibal asked, carefully ignoring the issue of Bedelia.

“I let him go.”

“You let him go”, Hannibal repeated, on a pointedly even tone, lips thinning in disapproval. “May I ask why?”

“He’s not a threat to us.”

“I beg to differ.”

“He won’t kill us.”

“He will go to the authorities.”

“He’s out of the FBI, disgraced, unreliable. Everyone knows of his obsession with you. His word means nothing. He serves us better alive than dead.”

“It’s funny”, Hannibal smiled sadly, “that is precisely the argument that I used to sway the part of myself concerned with self preservation, against killing _you_ , back when you figured me out.”

Will digested that.

“And here we are,” he offered. “Does the part of yourself concerned with self-preservation regret that, in hindsight?”

“Right now, yes. Jack is a liability. You shouldn’t have let him go.”

“Rationally I agree with you but… no – no, you’re wrong”, Will hastened to say, as he saw Hannibal’s face darken. “It’s _not_ weakness. Nor is it pity, or _morality_. Well, perhaps I do pity him, but I recognize that, to ensure our lives and liberty remains unthreatened, Jack should die. But, Hannibal, I was overcome with a sense of my own invincibility. I don’t know what to make of it. It has happened to me before, in the forest, the night the villagers came and you were away. It seems to happen when you’re away, it’s almost as if… I’m channeling you and your confidence.”

“Achilles wasn’t really invulnerable, Will. He was only very, very skilled in battle. If you seek to channel my confidence, perhaps you should also channel my common sense.”

“I don’t think it’s something I can control – I don’t do it on purpose, it just – happens.”

“Are you sure it’s not yet another manifestation of your dormant death wish?”

“I don’t know. I don’t _think_ so, since it comes with a visceral joie de vivre.”

Hannibal afforded him with a long look.

“Your freshly awakened hedonism is dressed in strange hues. Be careful, Will.” 

~

“They know”, Jack’s voice came to him over the phone.

Will froze.

“They will be coming for you. I’m giving you a chance to cooperate, Will. I don’t believe you actually took part in any crime, and the ones you did, like killing Dolarhyde, had mitigating circumstances. Hannibal, on the other hand, is done for. He’ll get the chair. His insanity defense, crafted by Chilton for his and Alana’s own purposes, won’t hold. You and I both know that he isn’t crazy, but something entirely _Other._ ”

“The Devil?” Will quipped. “And does that make you God?”

“I didn’t call to discuss metaphysics with you. I called because, despite my best judgment, I want to give you another chance. You let me go, when you could have killed me. I believe there is still something in you that’s worth saving.”

“What did you do, Jack?” Will interrupted, impatiently.

“I called the FBI. I told them where to find you. I told them that Will Graham will assist them in the capture of Hannibal Lecter.”

“And they _listened_ to you? It’s not the first time you came to them with such tall tales, is it? Since they _kicked you out_.”

“I RESIGNED!” Jack bellowed.

“How many times have you called them with false leads and empty promises of new ones?” Will continued, undeterred. “Your word doesn’t count for much anymore.”

“Ah but you forget there is a young man there who’s as dead set on capturing Hannibal Lecter as I am. You remember him – Taylor Bennett? And now he has the attention of someone _else”,_ Jack replied enigmatically. “So yes, they listened.”

“Bennett?” Will frowned, then shrugged. Sausages for breakfast, his memory supplied. “Oh yes. I’m afraid he was rather forgettable.”

“This is my fair warning to you, Will”, Jack’s voice came along the line. “Cooperate.” And then the line went dead.

Will’s mind went into panicked overdrive.

Chiefly, he struggled to make sense of how Jack knew to look for them here in Aukštaitija, at the precise moment when they decided to come here – and why would the FBI suddenly believe him. And who was the mysterious person (supposedly in a high place), who had Bennett’s attention, and implicitly, turned a sympathetic ear to Jack’s pleas of help in hunting Hannibal down.

They wouldn’t come to Lithuania on a wild goose chase, not only on Jack’s word. They couldn’t know for certain they’d be here. Was Jack only bluffing? How _did he_ know they’d be here? Was he just hanging out at Will and Hannibal’s past known haunts, did he pay people to keep a lookout? Bedelia couldn’t have told him this, whatever else she did tell him, she couldn’t have known they’d be here now. They hadn’t told anyone but Chiyoh – they _had_ no one, really, and Will found it impossible to suspect Chiyoh of all people – of being disloyal to Hannibal.

And suddenly he remembered Vittoria and the pieces of the puzzle all clicked into place in Will’s mind.

_“You would get right down to eviscerating her and removing her liver, if she stepped on your toes in a crowded supermarket and did not apologize_.” - spoken in Vittoria's presence.

_“Let’s go home. It’s been a long time,”_ – spoken on the very steps of Vittoria’s house.

Vittoria may have been in a haze of pain and later in a sedative-induced stupor but she must have remembered their words when she came to herself, and found their conversation odd enough to bring it to attention. Perhaps she even did her own research and found out who they were?

Bedelia had been right after all, Will reflected, with a sad smile. One mustn’t help a wounded bird, one must crush it. If Will hadn’t been there with Hannibal, Vittoria might not have been left alive and this mess would have been averted. If Will hadn’t been there with Hannibal, he wouldn’t have sat on those steps right outside Vittoria’s window and talked of the fate of gods and of going home.

_"Why are you so afraid to step outside these grounds? Surely no one would know you, all those years later?”_

All his ~~deliberate?~~ missteps.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. No. No no no no - "

Beads of sweat poured down Will's face and his fingers twitched. He drew several shaking breaths in quick succession.

 

What had he done?

 

The tower of cards would crumble this time. He had made sure of it. He didn't mean it...or did he? He was unworthy - foolish and pathetic ... He was a hero, an unsung hero. They'll never catch Hannibal. Will would kill him first. -- He waited for his inner voice to disagree, but for once it did not. The dew will settle on our graves and all the world is green.

 

You could do whatever you wanted to me, Hannibal had said. Will had always known this was true and the temptation was too much for him.

Hannibal was always the tempter - he did not drag, he did not pull, he /seduced/.

They had blurred so much into each other, maybe Will's death wish had become Hannibal's own.

Or - it had all been Will's design - and they were indeed doomed to relive the same moments, over and over, caught in the trappings of fate like doomed gods, forced to play by the same old rules - Will has returned them to the cliff and sentenced them to death with a new finality.

What did Will's hesitation buy him?

 

A space to live and love in for a day, with darkness and the death hour rounding it?

 

And down they went now, to the ninth circle of hell, together.

 

Or not at all?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnn....


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really not happy with this chapter, I dunno *frowns. But the more I tried to tweak it and polish it, the more dissatisfied I became with it, so I’m gonna just release it into the wild (fly, my pretty!) to fend for itself.  
> Poem at the beginning is quoted from The Good Morrow by John Donne.

_Whatever dies was not mixed equally;_

_If our two loves be one, or thou and I_

_Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die._

Hannibal was neither angry, nor alarmed, when Will went to him and told him everything. He was quiet – bottom lip caught momentarily between his teeth, he furrowed his brow, as he lapsed into thought.

Will rambled on, close to tears:

“We have to run, now, tonight. There’s no time to waste. _They know_. And it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll accept it. I’ll understand if you want to punish me. Hannibal? Please. Say something.”

Hannibal smiled sadly.

“Will. I always knew you would be my undoing. I have accepted it long ago.”

Will paled at the quiet resignation in Hannibal’s voice.

“It’s not over yet! And I- I didn’t mean it!” he blurted. “God, this is the _last_ thing I wanted!”

“It certainly is the last thing a part of you wanted. But the righteous, Jack-fearing part of yourself which has always been my mortal enemy now feels vindicated. You stood behind the bars of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane and you promised me a reckoning. Is this finally it?”

“Hannibal” – Will’s voice shook, “We have been together – we have killed together. I am _enmeshed in you_. You cannot doubt-“

“You are a creature of many hues, Will – always at war with yourself and I am caught in the middle. You accused me once of grabbing you and pulling you down into the Underworld with me. But it is _you_ , Will, who have been pushing and pulling _me_ in every direction.”

“I suppose it all depends on one’s perspective”, Will couldn’t help arguing. “It certainly feels different from where I’m standing.”

“Even back when you thought you were playing a double game with me – it was in fact a battle of Wills - the one who wished me dead and the one who wished to belong to me. Tell me, _Will_ – have you finally won the battle?”

“No. I have lost – everything. Hannibal, you mustn’t think-- there is no part of me that rejoices right now.”

“Maybe not, but I am fairly certain that in the depths of your mind, you experience a tinge of bitter satisfaction at this turn of events”, Hannibal answered shrewdly.

Will paused, taken aback. Hannibal smiled.

“See, I do know you, my dear Will.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to Will’s forehead – his gentleness felt like the memory of a stab wound on Will’s skin - then continued on a lighter tone.

“Yes - you have killed with me again, and accepted yourself, and me – this time without remorse. You have finally given me that part of yourself that I dreamed about ever since that night on the cliff. But I never seem to rest easy in the knowledge that I now have you, without the terror of the waves looming over me.”

“The waves won’t swallow us this time, Hannibal. We’ll run. Far and fast. They haven’t caught us yet. We can escape them.” Will was shivering with nerves and his voice came out less persuasive than he intended.

Hannibal placed his steady palms over Will’s shaking hands, and agreed, smoothly:

“We will run, indeed, as soon as we pack. This is a minor setback. It is rather ironic that we are in one of the few places in the world where I don’t have acquaintances who owe me favours. We’ll have to make do with a car Chiyoh will rent from town. The airports will be watched, so we will drive for as long as we can. Stick to nondescript motels. I don’t think they will have the authority and the means to put up roadblocks. They will probably expect us to head to sea and try to escape by boat, so we’ll head the opposite way, towards Belarus. I have faith the border guards at the Belarus borders will be receptive to bribes. The further east we go, the less Uncle Jack’s long arm can reach us.”

Hannibal paused, and his eyes dimmed, and Will, who had become marginally more relaxed by Hannibal’s steadiness, felt the tendrils of icy panic grip his heart anew.

“You will not like this”, Hannibal continued, in a less steady tone of voice, “and neither will I, but the matter of Lito must be addressed. He cannot accompany us. We will leave him with Chiyoh.”

Will nodded in agreement, recognizing the truth of this, and swallowed, past the lump in his throat. He deserved the misery which came with the realization. He deserved so much more and for once, he wished Hannibal was an agent of pain, like before. But Hannibal, of course, was choosing to deny him.

Silently, Hannibal went upstairs to pack, leaving Will to deal with Chiyoh.

He set out to look for her at the lodge, but found her already in the dining room, looking at him with knowing eyes. Will took a deep breath and began:

“Chiyoh, there’s been a problem. The FBI – they know we are here and they’ll be coming for us. We have to run-“

“They won’t get anything out of me”, Chiyoh said immediately.

“I know.”

“I will not leave here.”

“It might be dangerous for you to remain –“

“They have nothing on me. They know nothing. And I can lie to them, tell them you’ve gone one way, when you go in the opposite direction.”

“That will put you in danger, and we can’t have that _. I_ can’t have that. But I can’t stop you from staying here. I think Hannibal would like the idea.”

“This place –“ Chiyoh started, looking for words, “used to hold bad memories for Hannibal, and me. You have helped to create some good ones.”

Will shook his head, stubborn in his unacceptance of Chiyoh’s kindness, and changed the subject.

“We - uh, Chiyoh, listen, we have to ask a favour. We'd like you to have Lito until - until –“

“Yes”, Chiyoh interrupted, because the meaning was clear: there was no ‘until’ in sight. “I understand, and I accept.”

Years of solitude have made Chiyoh a woman of few words, and in those moments, Will was quietly appreciative of that.

“Thank you”, Will managed. “We’re - _I_ am grateful.”

He looked down at his feet, awkward and miserable.

“Will”, Chiyoh said, and he looked up again, surprised that Chiyoh called him by name. She rarely did. Will had always found her beautiful porcelain face inscrutable, but now he thought she looked at him with something resembling pity.

“I know you find comfort in fatality”, she told him. “It is something I understand and respect. But remember, Hannibal is a force of nature in his own. He can change tides.”

Will returned the smile, sadly but with affection.

“He has already changed mine.”

“I have a gift for you.”

She went to a drawer and took out two identical boxes. Will regarded her quizzically, then made to open one.

“I know they are not Hannibal’s weapons of choice, but you will need them.”

Will nodded to Chiyoh, gratefully, then took the boxes with the guns. They weighed heavily in his arms until he finally packed them into his bag.

~

They destroyed their phones and with it, their link to Chiyoh who would remain behind. Whether she chose to lie for them or simply remain silent with her mask of inscrutability, they weren’t to know.

Will buried his face in Lito's fur and hugged him tightly. Lito panted and whined with excitement, nuzzling up to Will.

“Be good, boy. We'll see you soon.”

He let go and stood up. Lito beat his tail on the ground and looked at Will, head cocked to a side, in comical uncertainty.

“Take good care of him, Chiyoh.”

She inclined her head in graceful assent.

Will turned on his heels and all but ran outside. He couldn't stand the sight of Lito looking at him inquiringly, and he didn't think he could watch Hannibal saying goodbye to Lito without bawling. Tears had already sprung in his eyes and he wiped them angrily. 'This is a minor setback', he repeated to himself Hannibal-induced words. 'A problem. One we will solve.'

~

They headed east, as Hannibal had suggested. As they stopped for gas that evening, they learned the FBI was more ahead of things than Hannibal had previously considered. Their photos had already been released to the press and the television – the cloak of anonymity didn’t hide them any longer. Hannibal slit the throat of the gas station attendant who gaped at him with rounded eyes, as the tv in the background announced that Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham (pictured), were wanted by the FBI and thought to be extremely dangerous.

Will swept a generous amount of food and water off the counters. They would have to get by without purchases for a while. He flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ as he came out.

Hannibal filled the gas tank, then they drove off.

“Hopefully it will take us some time before they find the body”, Will said. “Thank god for the lack of security cameras.”

“Even so - we have to change cars at the first opportunity”, Hannibal answered. “And keep off main roads, as much as possible.”

A few hours had passed and they had no opportunity for a car change. Another kill would have brought more attention to them, which might well prove fatal. Without a word, they looked at each other – appearing to have reached the same decision.

Hannibal pulled the car over, off the road, into a thicket. They covered it with branches. They took their bags from the trunk, and set off, cutting across the ravine.

~

When they finally found a motel to lay low for the night, they were dusty and sore.

The receptionist barely glanced at them as they came in, but Will could feel eyes on his back, as they turned and made for their room.

Will stood under the shower for a long time, but the scalding water couldn’t wash off his guilt and panic. The cold sweat clung to him like a second skin.

When he finally came out, he tentatively approached Hannibal who was fiddling with something by the door. He half-fell on him, plastered to his back, and clung tightly, arms wrapped around Hannibal’s middle like a lifeline.

Will wished the two of them could indeed become one. Then his love for Hannibal might extend to him as well, and not just the hatred. Then he alone would bear the brunt of his failure to protect them. Then what he intended to do would affect only one.

“Hannibal”, Will solemnly began, and he felt Hannibal stiffen against him, “it was Jack who told me – and I believe him, he told me, they intend to sentence you to death if they catch you this time. Your old defense won't hold.”

“I know”, Hannibal said, without a pause for thought. “But for you, they will try their best to find reasonable doubt. You may not escape incarceration, but you will live.”

Will smiled sadly.

“I don't want to live without you. I honestly don’t know if I’d manage, at this point. Your absence would hurt me as much as your presence once did.”

“I promised never to leave you, and I intend to keep that promise. Remember this, Will: I’ll always be with you.”

“In my memory palace?” Will didn't mean to sound bitter, but he did. “Could I be happy there?”

He took out the knife from his bag.

“This is not how I intended to honour your gift, Hannibal. Please, forgive me. I fought against you for so long – and now the dream must abruptly end.”

Tears were beginning to blur his eyes, and he hurriedly shoved the handle of the knife into Hannibal's hands.

“When you promised never to leave me … you said you’d sooner kill me. I remember feeling strangely comforted by that. I’m asking you now to make good on that promise. Please.”

Hannibal’s eyes darkened under Will’s gaze and Will knew the idea thrilled him. He went on:

“I would rather die now, by your hand, as accepting as you were when I wished to bring about our end that night.”

“But you did not end us. Instead, you gave us a new life.”

“Which I have now taken away.”

“You are a god in your own right, Will.”

“You always say such fantastic things, Hannibal. Life is a fairytale to you, isn't it? You live in Wonderland and you're the Mad Hatter, inviting people to your fancy tea parties - and _serving_ them too.”

Hannibal smiled, pressing the handle of the knife back into Will's hand, which he then clasped in both of his.

“This was a gift, Will. Keep it. You're not done using it, my brave beautiful boy.”

Will put the knife aside and wound his arms around Hannibal tightly, pressed his lips against Hannibal's with angry desperation and kissed him hungrily, as if wishing to share his breath or end it. They undressed each other with desperate urgency; hands fumbled with buttons, their breaths mingled in their haste to steal another kiss, and yet another – fingers and teeth scraped against skin to grip and bruise. For a long while, they only touched, and committed the already familiar taste and feel of each other to vital sense memory.

At last, Hannibal grabbed Will’s hips and drove him down on his cock, harshly, insistently, almost viciously. Will trembled with the pain and satisfaction of being used like this – it felt good, and he could imagine he was being punished as he deserved, even as Hannibal mouthed at his neck penitently.

There truly are no happy endings – Will’s own voice echoed in the walls of his mind, plucked out of recent memory. And a distant memory which was not his own came to him – in the quietly resigned voice of a woman, whose intelligence and sarcasm were no adequate armours against an army of undefeatable demons: “It’s really a very dull story, isn’t it. The ending is always the same. And that same, is that it ends.”

~

Sirens awakened Will late in the night. He barely stirred at first, sluggish in his exhaustion. They had made love until the small hours of the morning. Once he realized what it was that he was hearing, he started to awareness and broke into a cold sweat when his outstretched arm couldn’t find Hannibal in bed beside him.  

He jumped up, only to be greeted by the sight of Hannibal crouched just beneath the window, peering outside. Relief momentarily choked him, hampered nonetheless by the imminent danger.

“Are they here?” Will whispered.

Hannibal bent his forehead, supporting it in his fist, before he answered, on a similarly quiet whisper:

“Yes.”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing.”

“It's too late to try running?”

“They'll shoot if they see us. It's not worth the risk. We’ll come out quietly.”

“No. No, Hannibal, they'll - I told you, you're dead either way. We _have_ to risk it.”

Will's ears rang with the angry sound of their whispered argument breaking the almost unnatural silence. He crawled off the bed, careful not to be seen through the window, rummaged through his bag and took out the two guns Chiyoh had given him, then joined Hannibal on the floor.

“We won't go quietly, Hannibal. Look - we have guns.”

“Will-“, Hannibal shook his head, warily. “Don't.”

“I will not give up, not while there's a chance.”

“I am not giving up either, not in the long run, but right now the odds are against us winning this round. Even if we manage to bring some of them down – more will come. They’ll surround us. We'll run out of bullets eventually. We can't hold forever.”

“I can shoot at them, keep them busy, and buy you some time while you leave through the back.”

“No.”

“Why not, Hannibal?” Will pleaded, whisper turning high-pitched with frustration. “Why not at least _try_? You admitted yourself, it's not me they really want.”

“If you shoot at them, they'll shoot back. And I'm not leaving you. I promised, didn't I? I'm not leaving you again.”

Will bit his fist to keep an angry sob at bay.

“Then let's the both of us shoot at them. Please, Hannibal. Together, or not at all. Remember? I can't - please - I have to know I've done everything in my power to prevent this from happening. It's all my fault, why aren’t you angry at me, it’s all my doing, I made this happen-“

“Shhh-”

Hannibal pulled Will against his chest, resting his back against the wall, and whispered to him soothingly, that he wasn’t angry with him, that he loved him, and Will couldn’t take it anymore – he burst into tears. He felt Hannibal more than he heard him – in that moment, all of his senses were suffused with Hannibal, he latched onto his thoughts as if they were his own and felt their answering echo into the halls of his own mind:

“I could never entirely predict you.”

(I could never entirely predict you.)

“Being with you was courting danger.”

(Being with you was courting danger.)

“But I accepted it and now I must pay my dues.”

(I accepted it and now I must pay my dues.)

A loud knock on the door made them both jump.

“Hannibal Lecter!” a man’s voice was heard shouting. “We have surrounded the premises. Open the door and come out with your hands up.”

Hannibal grabbed Will's face in his hands.

“Will - quietly and slowly - we crawl towards the wall furthest from the door - alright? come on.”

Will nodded in quiet assent and followed Hannibal's lead without question.

After several more similar warnings similar in tone, Will heard the dreaded:

“Alright, come on, let's kick this door down.”

Will gripped his gun until his knuckles whitened.

He jumped, ready to fire, as the expected SLAM was followed immediately by a loud BANG. Too loud. Something was wrong. And the door did not give. It still bravely hung on its hinges. But outside there were screams and shouts.

“Get back, get back! It's a trap!”

“Men down! Call an ambulance!”

“The door is rigged with explosives! We have to find another means of entry!”

Will turned to Hannibal bewildered.

Hannibal smiled.

“You couldn't think I'd give up that easily.”

Will's answering remark was abruptly cut off as a rain of shots came through the window, breaking it, shards of glass flying

haphazardly inside the room.

Enraged, Will stood up, not even considering the danger, and started to fire through the open window in retaliation. Dimly, he heard Hannibal call his name, ordering him to get down, then he was tackled from behind just as a bullet hit its mark. He went down willingly.

~

Will lay on the floor, strangely peaceful, watching as his white shirt rapidly turned a violent shade of red. It would be alright now. He turned soft eyes to Hannibal who lay next to him. Will's eyes widened, when he saw that Hannibal had also taken a hit - perhaps more serious than his own wound. Will grasped Hannibal's hand in his and pressed a loving kiss to his palm. They wouldn't get them alive. This was /his/ design. On a low, intimate tone, he whispered to Hannibal, like they were lying in bed together, during some lazy morning:

“Remember that day, at the Uffizi Gallery?”

“If I saw you everyday, forever, Will – I would remember that time,” Hannibal repeated, with a smile.

It was a game they often played, Will reminding Hannibal of that moment, and Hannibal repeating the words he uttered back then.

But now Will answered:

“But you won’t – see me everyday, forever. And neither will I.”

“The best things in life are appreciated because their quality is fleeting. Life is a symphony of colours and sounds, and tastes, and smells, and – feelings.”

“That’s how it was for you”, Will strained to say. “Everything should be magical, and beautiful.”

“We must all strive to make the world a better place.”

Will couldn't help a quiet snort.

“Your better place is other people’s nightmare.”

“Isn’t that true of us all?”

“Please let’s not argue, not now. We have so little time.”

“We’re not arguing, Will. We have never in fact, argued. We have always … played an intellectual game of ping-pong”, Hannibal said, focusing on Will, even as his breathing became laboured and his lungs contracted for air.

“Please, please”, Will begged, desperately, clutching at Hannibal’s shirt, even as he himself started to choke on blood. “Don’t speak, don’t move. Save your strength.”

“It’s over for me”, Hannibal said, the weakness and resignation in his voice frightening Will even further. “You may yet be saved. But I want to tell you –“

“Shhh shhhh”, it was Will’s turn to whisper, fingers moving over Hannibal’s face blindly.

“My world was a better place for you being in it. It may not always have been convenient, and I have had to learn and unlearn some tricks – but – always  – Will –“

Hannibal ended abruptly on a sigh, of the one word Will could never tire of hearing him say. His head lolled in Will’s hand and Will tightened his hold fiercely, pressing his lips to Hannibal’s, in a desperate bid for a life-giving breath, but Hannibal's lips remained still and the echo of his silence was deafening.

Will propped himself on his elbows, and stared down at Hannibal’s beautiful face. His world felt frighteningly empty without the greatest source of pain and pleasure in his life. Even though it hurt to breathe, it seemed blissful nothingness was cruelly evading him. Life, life, you would not let me die. He clasped one of Hannibal’s hands – it was warm, and he crawled close enough so he could lie with his head on Hannibal’s chest. He would enjoy those final moments of closeness as much as he could.

~

He could smell the waves approaching even before he felt them. He expected them to cut like icy stabs through his tender wounds, but instead, they wrapped around him like a blanket of snow. Hannibal’s arms are around him and the waves part to receive them, and so they sink, faster and faster, through a seemingly endless ocean, light dimming around them, towards the pit of blackness awaiting them.

But Will thinks he can see – still far, far away – a light, moving closer and closer, for once not shrinking away from him, as they fall through the tunnel of darkness.

Does Hannibal have a kingdom in the sea? Will wouldn’t be too surprised.

He pulled back a little in the circle of Hannibal’s arms, because in that moment he believed, like the ancients, that the last image he saw would be imprinted on his retinas forever - and he wanted it to be Hannibal's face.

~

The back door was kicked down and the SWAT team burst inside. Following them, a woman, hair pulled tightly in a ponytail. No one could have guessed her left arm was a prosthetic limb, judging by the ease with which she held her gun. Her eyes fixed on Hannibal, she approached him slowly.

“Well”, a male voice said behind her, and the figure of Taylor Bennett loomed into view. "It seems we've won."

The woman's frozen stare betrayed nothing, no satisfaction, no relief.

“Do you call this winning?” Miriam Lass finally said, bitterness dripping from her voice.

Then she turned and shouted to the paramedics, who were hovering on the threshold, waiting to be called in:

“Quickly! In here! I want this man alive. Make no mistake and spare nothing - nothing! If his heart gives out, arrange a transplant, if his lungs give out -- you get the idea. The FBI will sign off on any and all charges. He won't get off so easily.”

“What about Graham?” Bennett said, contemptuously.

Miriam turned her attention to Will, who clutched Hannibal's shirt, even in unconsciousness.

“Try your best”, she said - a pause and then she added: “But nothing extra. If you lose him, let him go.”

The paramedics disentangled Will's fingers from Hannibal's shirt, and lifted both on gurneys.

Outside, dawn was breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should mention, I was going to end the story with this chapter, and make Hannibal and Will’s deaths final. Yep, I was really gonna do that to y’all, major character death x 2, straight out of nowhere, you’d have hated me but I’d have been like *shrug ‘it’s cool, man’, because I am that much in love with the idea of the perfect narrative roundness of Hannibal ultimately being ended by Will’s hand, after all. Of them being ended together, by Will’s hand. So I really like the idea that post S3, they’re buying some time for each other, and for the both of them with each other, but in the end, like powerful gods who yet cannot choose their own fate – they succumb to their inevitable end. BUT - then I got a few ideas of what would happen if they were to outrageously survive yet AGAIN, so I’m gonna leave you in the murky waters of uncertainty for now, because it seems that’s what I do best…


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept my humble apologies for the huge delay! Between the new exhausting job and my natural laziness….yeah.
> 
> Warning for self-harm in this chapter.

_Half-remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?_

_When you knew that it was over, were you finally aware_

_That the autumn leaves were turning to the colour of his hair?_

 

The walls were white. It smelled of disinfectant. What else? There was a faint smell of mold underneath the layer of paint. What else?

Will looked around the room for the hundredth time and tried to imagine how Hannibal would see it. Would he see the rot which was painted over, would he smell the traces of human misery which had long since been washed clean? Of course he would, and more besides – and this was an exercise Will would usually require no effort to indulge in – except that now his mind was dulled by grief. His peculiar and abundant imagination, so long resented, had finally deserted him in the moment of need – a moment when he would gladly have welcomed any distraction. He mourned, and in mourning he finally felt normal.

When he woke up in hospital, long after the fateful morning when they were captured, he was told Hannibal was dead. He wouldn’t have believed them, he would have denied it until his last breath – except he remembered feeling the last beats of Hannibal’s heart under his palm, followed by an unnatural stillness, as he lay there and waited for his own death.

Now there was nothing for him except to keep on waiting.

The walls were white. They could be painted red. Then they would look black in the moonlight.

Will doubled over with the pain of remembering, so sharp, it might as well have been physical. Like a knife in the gut, and he knew how _that_ felt like.

_How well do you know Hannibal?_

_Intimately._

Half-remembered names and faces – all of them blurred, like faded photographs, barely clinging to the tapestry of his memory, while the halls of his mind palace echoed with a single name, the dark corridors haunted by one memorable figure, Will’s greatest enemy and his dearest friend, the worst influence and the greatest source of comfort, the most extraordinary man Will had ever known.

 

When he recovered enough, they tried to talk to him about Hannibal, about himself. Miriam Lass came, Bennett too (Will had trouble remembering his name), even Jack. They all tried to get him to talk, but Will would stare at them in confusion and forget questions as soon as they were asked. He was not uncooperative, he was just – tired. They blamed it on his brush with death and treated him with kindness, almost delicately.

_You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss._

‘Now I do’, Will thought. It’s no wonder everyone can see it.

Eventually, he was moved to the stark white cell he now resided in, pending his trial. He was allowed a phone call, and was advised to call an attorney. Will called Chiyoh and asked about Lito. Her calm, well-measured voice was a balm on his fevered brain – if only short-lived. They did not speak of Hannibal.

When he returned to his cell, Will bit into his pillow and cried, with the helpless abandon of a child, until he finally fell asleep, face blotched with tears and snot. He cried often, in the beginning.

Now Will looked back with longing on that time, because these days, the pain of his loss was such as tears could not soothe. It was like a gaping wound which required stitching, or else blessed forgetfulness.

If only he was not locked up here, he could get mindlessly drunk – fall asleep in a gutter, freeze to death, maybe get stabbed, run over –

His cell was empty of any items which might help him harm himself, or others. Unless —

The walls are white. They _could be_ painted red.

 

Will did not plan ahead. He just did it – in a ferocious frenzy, mindless of the pain he inflicted on himself – no, grateful for the pain. One’s brain could only focus on the largest source of pain at any given moment. If you have a headache and you stub your toe, you will momentarily not feel the headache. If you suffer from guilt and longing and you get stabbed in the gut, you forget the former pain in the wake of the stinging latter. If you grieve for the love of your life and you bite the flesh off your arm enough to bleed, enough to feel the sinewy meat between your teeth, then – well, it was close but finally the physical pain won out. Will, shaking and bleeding, but still gripped by the same mad fever which had driven him to indulge in such an action, painted the insufferable white walls with long streaks of red. With almost giddy exhilaration, he tried to cover as much of them as he could, squeezing blood from his open wounds, until he felt his vision darken and he swayed on his feet. With a mirthless chuckle, mouth open and red, he let himself fall, hoping it would be for the final time.

~

“Self-inflicted. The dentist double-checked.”

“He did this to himself…?”

“Yes. Without a doubt.”

“How can anyone do this… rip chunks of his own flesh until he almost bleeds to death….unless he’s crazy high?”

“Lose the high, keep the crazy. That’s Will Graham we’re talking about, he always had a screw loose.”

“If you knew he was crazy, you should have had him watched, Bennett.”

“Hey, it’s not on me. Miriam was the one who insisted we go easy on him.”

“Unfortunately, he did not go easy on himself.”

Bennett snorted, appreciating the joke.

“Yep. Curious to see Miriam’s report to the boss.”

~

Will blinked to awareness in a hospital room. He groaned weakly, but there was no one nearby to hear him. His arms were tightly bandaged and hurt like hell, despite the morphine IV which dripped slowly but steadily, working its poison magic. Perhaps it was a phantom pain which plagued him like a bad trip. Perhaps his continued existence was no more than a phantom pain, a dream he had while drowning in the Atlantic. Past and present were a blur in Will’s exhausted mind. 

 

Will remembered the strange story Hannibal told him at the chapel on the cliffs, of Oruza, Claudia and Francesca. It seemed that he was Oruza after all, and it was his fate to cheat death over and over, until it would finally catch up with him. Or was Hannibal himself Oruza, whom death had finally caught up with? And if so, was Will doomed to be Claudia, who joined Oruza in battle but was not awarded the peace and dignity of blessed forgetfulness, and, having outlived her friend, was left to mourn her, disheveled and wounded?

In his morphine haze, Will firmly believed that Hannibal had told him that tale with full knowledge of what future would bring. Well, whatever 'test' this was, it looked like he had failed. Again.

 

Will cast his eyes around the room and tried to refocus on his usual companion – the bone-weary sadness which accompanied his every waking moment. It was there, in the background, despite the dullness mercifully provided by the morphine, less poignant and somehow sweeter – like Hannibal was just gone for a while and Will would join him very soon. There was a certain reassurance about being there, in the sterile hospital room, hooked to iv’s. He did feel closer to Hannibal here. He dreaded the time when he would have to go back to his cell. He wondered if they had the walls repainted yet, and was surprised to feel the corners of his mouth lift of their own accord. He was smiling, for the first time in recent memory, and what an occasion for it. But he couldn’t help it, his heart felt lighter and it was as if a breeze swept through his memory palace, where a beloved ghost still roamed. For the first time in recent memory, he got a good night’s sleep.

 

Unbeknown to Will (but apparently not wholly unfelt by him), in a ward not far from where Will was trying to decipher past from present and sanity from insanity, Hannibal was showing the first signs of waking up from the vegetative state induced by the doctors to aid the long slow process of healing his serious injuries.  

Upon regaining full consciousness late that evening, Hannibal asked about Will and received the answer that Will was dead and he, Hannibal, would be transferred to a maximum security facility as soon as the doctors deemed it was safe for him to be moved. There he would await trial, and execution by lethal injection.

“You saved my life”, Hannibal rasped, “at great expense, just to ensure my demise? Such bureaucracy.”

Miriam Lass approached his bedside and leaned down so he could look him squarely in the eye:

“I saved your life so that justice can be served,” she said, clippingly. “So that people can finally rest knowing you are put down – not a martyr, not a victim, not the grand hero of an epic tragedy – but as a common criminal. Your reign of terror is over, and the legend will die with you. You’re nothing but a self-made monster, a man with no boundaries. An evil man. You’re not crazy and you’re not special. You will die alone and no one will miss you.”

Hannibal remained unperturbed.

“You resent me for making you want to kill,” he answered, calmly meeting Miriam’s eye.

“The fact that you manipulated me into wanting to kill Mr. Chilton is irrelevant to this conversation.”

“On the contrary – I think it’s what sparked your entire crusade against me.”

“You took my life from me.”

“I gave it back. It is your own life now, is it not? To live as you would see fit? It is your choice to live in the past.”

“We cannot always choose the shadows that loom over our lives.”

“No”, Hannibal agreed, “we cannot. What do you hope to achieve by lying to me?”

“I haven’t lied to you, Dr. Lecter. You will be executed by the state, it is no more than a formality at this point.”

“I mean about Will.”

“Will Graham died of the injuries he sustained during the shooting which led to your capture”, she answered in a bored tone. “Whatever hope you may have held--“

“It is not hope. It’s certainty. I know he’s not dead. The only uncertainty that remains to me at this point is why you would wish to hide it from me. But I am sure I will figure this out, with the help of my lawyer. I believe that the laws of this country still state I am entitled to a lawyer, even assuming, as per your unprofessional claim, that my execution is no more than a ‘formality’.”

Miriam Lass bit the inside of her jaw in frustration.

“You are indeed, entitled to a lawyer. However, Mr. Graham is out of your reach, I am happy to say – I was of course, sad at his passing, he was a good man, and did not deserve all that he suffered – most of which was your doing, by the way. But there is some consolation to be found in the fact that he has finally escaped you--“

“I can smell him”, Hannibal interrupted her again, and smiled as broadly as his disused muscles allowed him, off Miriam’s shocked expression. “I know he is close by. I could always distinguish his scent among hundreds of others – to me, it is like hearing a lovely and poignant aria, it moves me in ways I dared not dream of before – sweet and tormented and exhilarating. It comforts me and arouses me in equal measure. My sense of smell is exceptional, and in the palace of my mind, associations blossom unexpectedly; so you see – I am special after all.”

Miriam was momentarily speechless and Hannibal paused, the better to enjoy her discomfort.

“I would like to see Will”, he said, finally.

“I don’t give a crap what you would like”, Miriam answered, recovering her bearings, her face still twitching with distaste. “You’re not in a position to make demands and I’m not here to do you any favours.”

“I smell grief, and defeat, underneath the fevered scent of his distress, all too normal under the circumstances, but I am worried about him.”

“You will never see Will Graham again. I was not lying earlier when I said he is out of your reach – even though your monstrous influence still affects him. But he will recover, eventually – after you’ve gone.”

“Is that what you hope for yourself, Miriam? Did you not recover fully? Or are you still dreaming of blood? Is it my blood you’re dreaming of?”

Miriam shook her head, with a bewildered smile.

“Still with your mind games…. I’d be a fool to play them with you, Dr. Lecter.”

She moved towards the door.

“Enjoy your final moments of comfort, Dr. Lecter. As soon as the doctors tell me you can be moved, you’re off.”

“If my fate is decided, why can’t I see Will one last time? Even those sentenced to death get a final meal. I would like to get my last nourishment from the sight of him.”

Miriam smirked.

“And yet you can’t. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why.” She approached his bed and leaned over him again, uncomfortably close. “Because I say so,” she uttered, with relish.

Hannibal blinked at her, nonplussed.

“Additionally, I would also like to see my lawyer.”

Miriam snorted, then without answering, turned swiftly and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Be vigilant”, she told the guards at the door. “The doctors tell me he’s incapacitated, but I don’t trust this man at all.”

“He’s cuffed to the bed, and he just came out of a coma”, one of the guards answered, incredulously. “Surely…”

“Listen to me. This man is dangerous, and not, under any circumstances, to be underestimated.”

She huffed and walked off, muttering under her breath:

“The sooner he’s into maximum security, the better.”

~

“Dr. Lecter”, Byron Metcalfe nodded, “I am glad to see you relatively unharmed.”

Hannibal smiled thinly.

“I survived the shooting. The harm came later”, he joked. “In the guise of a blonde woman, as it so often does.”

The lawyer chuckled with patriarchal benevolence, the joke was right up his alley, as Hannibal had correctly assumed.

“Miss Miriam Lass does seem invested in your case beyond the usual professional concern.”

“She was very rude. I am sure that enough blunders have been made so far to get her off the case altogether.”

“Maybe”, the lawyer acquiesced placidly, “if the suspect in question were of a less high profile.”

He looked at Hannibal meaningfully, as if being an especially prolific serial killer was an irksome but ultimately forgivable inconvenience.

“Ah”, Hannibal granted. “Is it true then, my execution is no more than ‘a formality’?”

“By no means. There is a case and there will be a battle in court – not to prove your innocence, of course, but to win public sympathy. We may have a long and arduous fight ahead of us.”

“Why won’t they let me see Will?” Hannibal asked. “Besides the pettiness of depriving me of the comfort of his presence, do they have a reason to not let me see him?”

The lawyer sighed.

“Like I said, public sympathy. You have allies in unlikely places. Your story has made some rich – I am referring here to Miss Lounds, and there is a surprising amount of positive feeling for you among her readership. A sympathy fostered in no small measure by your -- affair with Mr. Graham.”

“Love and death are the two great hinges on which all human sympathies turn.”

“Mr. Graham certainly seems devoted to you, even now. They will, of course, argue Stockholm syndrome.”

“And what do you think, Mr. Metcalfe?”

“It is not my business to think anything, Dr. Lecter. It’s my business to try and save your life.”

Hannibal inclined his head in graceful acceptance.

The lawyer took this as unspoken dismissal, and stood up to leave, but having reached the door, Hannibal stopped him. Looking more uncertain and vulnerable than he ever did before, when they discussed the likelihood of his execution, he spoke up:

“Please, try to… use whatever influence or legal tools at your disposal to arrange a meeting between me and Will.”

The lawyer nodded a few times in quick succession, as if he knew that plea was coming.

“I will do my very best, Dr. Lecter. But I make no promises, because it falls rather outside the realm of my jurisdiction and influence. But I will see about other… methods I may employ to this effect. Were it to happen, it would certainly serve our case.”

“At the very least, try to find out if he is alright.”

The lawyer hesitated.

“I hope you will forgive me for not mentioning this earlier, but I wanted to spare you the concern, especially since there is nothing you can do about it. Will Graham made an apparent suicide attempt, in which he supposedly bit his – uh – the flesh off his arms. They keep him heavily sedated at the moment.”

There was a momentary flash of terrifying anger on Hannibal Lecter’s features, staggering to behold but quick to be suppressed. He nodded slowly, lost in thought, as he gradually mastered himself. Metcalfe waited.

“They told him I was dead”, Hannibal finally spoke, as if reaching a private revelation. “Of course. They tried to tell me Will was dead, it was obvious they’d do the same to him.”

“I will convey to him the message that you are alive and on the mend, and try to dissuade him from further self-harm.”

“It’s maddening, to feel he is nearby and not be able to reach him”, Hannibal snarled, his mask slipping again momentarily. “I’d eat my way to him if I could.”

“Uh – I would advise against – taking unnecessary risks.”

With a curt bow, the lawyer took his leave.

Hannibal put his head back, closed his eyes and waded into the quiet of the stream, looking for Will.

~

Will startled, chest heaving, under the weight of Hannibal’s compelling presence. He opened wide, unseeing eyes and stared above him – at the high ceiling of the Capella Palatina.

“Hello, Will.”

“Hello, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal smiled at the formal appellative.

“This is cruel, even for you,” Will continued.

Hannibal arched an eyebrow in mild curiosity:

“What is?” 

“To come to me like this in dreams”, Will explained, “then let me wake up and face a reality without you.”

“You always wanted to have your cake and eat it”, Hannibal answered fondly.

“Are you suggesting I _wanted_ this?”

“Do you remember what I told you, long ago, when the angry ocean spit us out of its bowels?”

Will smiled in reminiscence.

“Not even the ocean would have us.”

“Yes”, Hannibal agreed. “Another of your designs gone remiss. I told you that you relish your role as martyr. How does martyrdom suit you now?”

“Not very well”, Will admitted. “I have the scars but not the crown of thorns.”

They shared an easy smile, as old friends are wont to share, heads bowed together in quiet conference, as the crowd roamed about them, in the Norman Chapel.

~

His wrist was gripped with sudden urgency. Will snapped back to reality.

“Mr. Graham, I apologize.” The voice came from the stout man who still had Will’s bandaged wrist in his grip, seemingly unaware of the fact that it hurt him. Will surveyed him. He was dressed, like Hannibal, in a pompous suit, complete with pocket handkerchief, but he wore it with less than Hannibal’s usual flair. Will turned tired eyes back to the ceiling.

“I was having such a lovely dream”, he sighed. “Who are you?”

“I apologize”, the man said again. “I am Byron Metcalfe, I’m Hannibal Lecter’s lawyer.”

Will belatedly registered the words – as their meaning slowly sank in, he turned, and stared, with what he could only suppose was comical bewilderment. His eyes blurred with tears.

But the stout pompous man did not laugh at his pathetic reactions. He tightened his grip on Will’s wrist, until Will gave an involuntary groan, and lowered his voice to a whisper:

“Please, if you would come with me, Mr. Graham. We have – matters – to discuss.”

Will sighed again in tired defeat and swung his legs over the bed.

“Am I his sole beneficiary now? I trust everything he owned got seized by the state. Isn’t that how it goes?”

“Let me get you a wheelchair.”

“Nah, I’m good. I could use a walk.”

“I insist, it – you – lost a lot of blood-“

“My legs are fine. In fact, on the whole, I am better than I could have wished for. Indeed, better than I _did_ wish for.”

Hannibal Lecter’s lawyer did not rebuke Will for his misplaced humour; instead he replied, seriously:

“With time, you will see things differently.”

He then turned swiftly, and motioned for Will to follow him.

Something about his manner finally registered to Will as odd.

It became odder still, when, having reached the door, the guards did not even flinch and required no additional explanations for letting them pass. Will knew there were yet more guards posted at the ward entrance, and still others at the main exit, but for Will to be wandering around the corridors with no one but this man for company, was a breach in security. If only Will could be bothered to care – or be curious enough to wonder about.

Metcalfe did not say anything more and Will did not press him – he led Will not towards the exit of the ward, but to a room down the hall. In front of the door, he stopped abruptly, barring Will’s way in.

“I have to impress on you, Mr. Graham – if this were not yet abundantly clear, the absolute secrecy of our meeting just now, as well as the secrecy of the subsequent – meeting. Also I must ask you to refrain from ...expressing yourself in a way which might draw unwanted attention.”

Will frowned in confused amusement at the man’s absurd choice of words.

His frown, and amusement, faded from his face as Metcalfe opened the door, shoving him inside with an almost panicked gesture, and closing the door quickly behind him.

Will stumbled in, righted himself, then remained staring, rigid and expressionless, at the sight in front of him.

 

Hannibal.

Alive.

Pale and tired. But Alive.

Smiling at him.

God, he’s beautiful.

Hannibal. Alive. For him.

How?

“You look terrible”, Will blurted, in a voice he did not recognize as his own. His feet carried him with unconscious haste towards the bed. Dropping to his knees, like a puppet with its strings cut, Will pressed his head into Hannibal’s waiting hand; his own hands, twitching with the desire to touch, but not wishing to harm, hovered over Hannibal’s body in mid air, tracing the contours of his prone form.

“You look and feel lovely as ever”, Hannibal answered, contently, his fingers roaming familiar paths through Will’s unruly hair.

The sound of his voice made Will choke back a sob.

“I lost gallons of blood”, Will deadpanned, instead of everything else he wanted to say, because he was afraid he'd start crying and never stop.

“So I’ve heard”, Hannibal answered, with severity. “Have I not told you – suicide is the enemy?”

“You were gone”, Will answered shortly, by way of explanation.

“In fact, I wasn’t”, Hannibal said. “They lied to you – as they tried to do to me. They’re trying to come between us. We must not let them.”

“No, never – I’ll kill them all, I swear”, Will mumbled, eyes closing in relieved pleasure at Hannibal’s persistent touch.

“Shhh”, Hannibal soothed. “Not yet.”

“I – oh, this is not a dream, is it? Please, don’t let this be a dream, please.”

“Touch me, Will. Don’t be afraid to touch me, I won’t break. I am made of much stronger stuff than everyone imagines. No, this is not a dream, nor are we in our mind palace. I’d choose much better decorations, if so. This is very real.”

Hannibal took Will’s hand and pressed it over his chest. Will kept his touch light, but lingering. With his other hand, he traced Hannibal’s features, like he was so fond of doing in the old days. Growing bolder, he leaned up and covered every inch of Hannibal’s skin he could reach in open-mouthed wet kisses. Hannibal sighed in pleasure, happily basking in the burning offering of Will’s love and tears.

“God, but how – “ Will mumbled, muffled by Hannibal’s skin, “ _how_ are you alive?”

Hannibal grinned down at Will with a spark of his usual arrogance and compelling confidence:

“When have you ever known me to lie down and die and save everyone the trouble?”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains ‘echoes’ of an earlier scene, told from a different point of view. You’ll see! If you wanna go back and re-read it in full from the original POV, you’ll find it in chapter 6.  
> Speaking of which, you may have noticed that, while the entire story so far has been from Will’s POV, the latest chapter had scenes which weren’t. The reason for that is mainly that I wanted to show Hannibal’s recovery independent of Will, or otherwise you might have believed it was all in Will’s head, and I didn’t want you to get that idea.  
> And having done that once, I was like ‘heck, let’s go hog wild with different POV’s’, because it’s not like I’m a serious writer or anything ;p Hope it doesn’t ruin the story for you! I do still intend to keep Will’s POV as much as possible.

“You have to go”, Hannibal said. “They mustn’t know you’ve been here. We have to maintain our advantage.”

Will shook his head.

“I don’t want to go. I’m afraid this is the last time I see you.”

“Fear is an energizing emotion when you can do something about it, otherwise it disheartens and incapacitates. Were you very depressed without me, Will?”

“You know I was,” he whispered.

“Yes, I know what you did. It would have been absurdly tragic if you had died not knowing I was alive after all.”

Will smiled tightly, understanding the reference.

“You would have found it beautiful.”

“Beautiful, yes. But unsatisfying.”

“I’m sorry. I just – didn’t know what else to do. So I did what the voices in my head told me. There was a frightening emptiness in my mind, created by your absence. That empty space spawned strange monsters. I – I want you back. To ground me. I can’t – go on without you.”

Hannibal’s eyes sparkled.

“Will. Dear love, listen-“

“You don’t know how much I love you”, Will babbled on, incoherently. “You can’t possibly match the love I have for you, no, you can’t _imagine,_ it’s all-encompassing, it’s dreadful, stifling and final. It’s _everything._ I can’t live without you. It has got to a point that—“, Will took a shuddering breath, trembling, then changed his tone, going on in a pretend careless voice: “Do you remember, in the beginning, how it was?”

“ _I don’t find you that interesting_?” Hannibal mimicked, with a smirk, effortlessly guessing the path Will’s thoughts have taken.

“Yes – you couldn’t have possibly imagined this, could you? I know I couldn’t. And I can imagine everything. I can imagine a lot of things. I guess….I guess you got what you wanted. I’m still hazy as to _how_ , but you got what you wanted, and so much more. Indeed, more than you bargained for, perhaps.”

“Will. You’re rambling. What drugs do they have you on? I think it’s time for you to go back to your ward-”

“Listen, god damn you, listen to me,” Will hissed, his eyes suddenly going hard and dark. “I can’t live without you. So you owe me. You owe me _your life_ , Hannibal, you have to continue to be – for me. After everything, you can’t just leave me now, they can’t take you from me.”

“Will-“

“Shut up. For once in your life, shut up and listen. I’ve taken on responsibility for your crimes, past and future – I’ve taken _you_ on, Hannibal, I carry you with me all the time, you are a part of me; but I? What am I to you? Are you as responsible for me as I am for you? Do you carry me with you? Or am I still no more than a pleasant distraction, one you’ve yet to grow tired of?”

Hannibal’s lip twitched momentarily.

“Do you still doubt my feelings for you?”

“Am I _everything_  to you?” Will asked fiercely. “I’ll take no less than that. If there’s any less than that, I’d rather just end it now. I’ll end the both of us, right now, and spare myself the pain.”

Will tightened his grip on Hannibal’s wrist and there was no doubt that in that moment, some vicious mad strength would allow Will to do just what he had threatened to. A flicker of momentary fear traveled through Hannibal’s eyes, to be gone in the next instant.

“You are, as ever, unpredictable, Will”, he murmured. “But in one thing you have not changed. You condemn me and absolve me in the same breath. You curse me and adore me. You need my continued existence, and then wish to take it from me.”

Will stared at him, unflinching, not attempting any denial.

“What is it that you wish to hear from me?” Hannibal continued. “Do you think I am any less scarred, any less twisted and bent out of shape by the tide which has inexorably brought us together? Don’t mistake my self-composure for lack of suffering. My very nature and self-education have made me resilient and self-reliant. I take care to compartmentalize my emotions, whereas yours are all over the place, and that is one of the chiefest differences between you and I. This is why you feel like I am ‘everything’ to you, and that’s also why you believe I don’t feel the same. Don’t let doubt in, dear love, not about us, not _now_.”

Will slumped at the gentle reproof in Hannibal’s voice, the corners of his mouth turning down like a scolded child, the darkness in his eyes fading. His grip on Hannibal’s wrist relented, and he started aimlessly caressing it instead.

“It just feels-“

“I know, Will, it _feels_ too much. I know it.”

Hannibal brought one hand to the nape of Will’s neck, and squeezed slightly, grounding him. 

“But I have made you a promise, Will – that you will never have to live without me. I hope this answers your earlier question. As for questions of who owes whom, and what – I believe these are best left for future quiet evenings in front of the fireplace – don’t you?”

Will blinked, with a tired smile.

“Or in the pews of the Capella Pallatina?”

“And that is where you can _always_ find me, Will. I’ll be waiting there, as ever, for you to come to me.”

Will sniffed, quietly.

“It won’t be the same, though. You might have transcended the physical, but for me, it feels strange and unreal. And it does little to soothe my ache for you. I still wake up hurting.”

“You’ll learn to love it”, Hannibal assured him, and there was no doubt in Will’s mind that he would. “And this is only temporary, while we are kept apart. I hope and trust that it will not be for much longer.”

Will bent and kissed Hannibal full on the mouth, a long and sensual battle of lips and tongue, Hannibal’s arms around him like a lifeline.

“Now go”, Hannibal told him as Will straightened. “And allow yourself to come to me, like you did before – in our shared rooms of the memory palace. I’ll be waiting.”

~

Miriam Lass sat in the interview room facing a dark-haired woman.

“You were difficult to find.”

“Always”, Bedelia granted. “But never difficult enough, apparently.”

“We were hoping you would testify at the trial, Dr. Du Maurier.”

Bedelia’s natural pallor was underscored by the dark hair, and her eyes had more of an icy glint. She finally looked her age – the hallmarks of a turmoiled existence cruelly written on her face. She was dressed in sober colours, but with a classic, elegant cut. She returned Miriam’s look from across the table with a trace of her old sarcastic amusement.

“Are you sure that you want me to tell the truth?”

Miriam’s lips tightened.

“The truth is always preferable”, she replied. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“It might be, for you. It is not all so black and white as you would have it.”

Miriam leaned forward.

“I admit I am confused about you, Bedelia. May I call you Bedelia?”

At a graceful nod from the other woman, she went on:

“I have no idea who you are to Hannibal that he has left you alive to tell…whatever tale it is you intend on telling me.”

Bedelia replied, with a smile she did her best to contain from becoming a full grin:

“I like to believe I am simply someone who is fit to play with Hannibal on equal grounds, and on equal terms. Possibly even someone whom Hannibal has a weakness for.”

Miriam considered her skeptically.

“But not as much a weakness as he has for Will Graham”, she stabbed in the dark, and her eyes glinted when Bedelia gave an almost imperceptible twitch of annoyance.

“Will Graham is indeed a unique force in Hannibal’s life”, Bedelia replied, calmly.

“So what does that make you?”

“A survivor. Like you, Miriam. We have matching wounds - although we are both good at covering them - and they are a constant reminder of the past which lives on with us, like unwanted company in the room. We have both been robbed of limbs to appease the monster, yet for some reason, we have been granted continued existence. It is all – whimsy.”

Bedelia smiled, through tears sparkling in her eyes, while Miriam blinked fast, trying to contain her own emotions.

“I – uh, Hannibal didn’t cut my arm to eat me.”

“Nor indeed did he eat me”, Bedelia answered.

“Alright”, Miriam placed both hands on the table in front of her, trying to get the conversation back on solid ground. “I need you to tell me everything, from the start.”

“Everything? It might take some time.”

“I have time.”

“No, you don’t. The trial is in a few days and you need to interview other possible witnesses”, Bedelia replied, shrewdly.

“How about you tell me everything that happened after Hannibal’s escape from BSHCI, after the whole red dragon fiasco? And only mention anything _else_ , if it ties together with that?”

Something in Miriam’s voice made Bedelia look up, sharply.

“You know”, she stated, uselessly. “How many others know? Jack said, there were people who knew, people he’s told. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him…”, she rambled on, as if to herself.

“Jack has chosen to come clean with me a long time ago, when he realized he was done for, and keeping secrets was only going to hasten his fall. He came to me and told me everything, about your affair, your fallout. Yes, Bedelia, _everything_ ”, she stressed, holding Bedelia’s frightened gaze.

Bedelia marginally recovered from her shock and challenged, on a cold tone:

“Why do you need me then, to tell you what you already know?”

Miriam leaned forward.

“Let’s call it fact checking. Also I want to make sure what you say in court is not – misinterpreted. We can’t afford that.”

“Tweak the story, you mean?” Bedelia smiled wanly.

Miriam returned the smile, brightly:

“Exactly.”

She paused, suddenly melancholy.

“I used to call Jack the Guru, you know?” A corner of her mouth twitched in bitter reminiscence. “Used to think he’d always come out on top. Was I ever wrong about that. I’ve no more illusions anymore. Oh well.”

Bedelia studied her carefully.

“Illusions often help us make a grim reality easier to bear.”

“Not for me”, Miriam answered coldly. “I’d rather have reality, grim or not.”

Bedelia swallowed shakily.

“Well, shall I – begin?”

Miriam nodded, then pressed the record button.

“A year or so after Hannibal Lecter's supposed death, I met Hannibal Lecter in Florence by chance”, Bedelia lied. “I let my guard drop and it seemed to me like my time was up. But then, just as I thought I’d finally end up on his dinner menu, his phone rang. As luck would have it, it was Jack Crawford.”

“There is a lot of luck and chance going on in this story”, Miriam observed.

Bedelia shrugged minutely, then went on:

“Jack had Will and wanted to arrange a meeting – a trap, of course, for Hannibal. Suddenly, Hannibal’s priorities shifted and he wasn’t so interested in eating me anymore; he became solely focused on how to rescue Will. And I saw a chance to get back into Hannibal’s good books and get rid of the man who was still like a thorn in my side – Jack Crawford.”

“So Hannibal would let you go so easily, just for this? One favour for another?” Miriam sounded skeptical.

Not just for this, Bedelia wanted to say, but instead she smiled:

“Quid pro quo.”

Her eyes glazed over as she remembered the fateful meeting in the hotel.

_“Hello, Jack. I was in the neighbourhood.” She couldn’t help goading him. “On your knees. Good position, that. But now, stand up. Tie this around your thigh. We don’t want to make a mess. You know I’m perfectly capable of blowing your brains out, now come, on, let’s go.”_

_“Go where?”_

_“Downstairs, for starters. You’re going to check out. Then we’ll go some place where we can talk – on our own terms.”_

_“Our?”_

_The shock and bitterness on Jack’s face almost mirrored Will’s. Hannibal alone seemed delighted with her performance. She watched, out of the corner of her eye, as Hannibal uncuffed Will and gentled his voice as he asked about his injuries, then about his loyalties. Will looked like he wanted to ask Hannibal the same, but refrained for now. The moment seemed suspended, both her and Jack unwilling and entranced spectators as the two of them circled each other and sparred, so focused on each other the rest of the world may not have existed. As fascinated as Bedelia always found herself with their interraction, her practical mind kicked in._

_“We really have to go”, she cut in._

_Hannibal stood up, Will’s eyes following him the whole time._

_“Keep your hands in front of you.”_

_Jack’s hands were cuffed then concealed by the coat. Hannibal turned to her._

_“You know what to do, Bedelia.” A lovely, intimate tone, which almost made her believe she was well-received in his world still. But then again, she always would be, one way or another. She smiled and nodded._

_Hannibal turned back to Will:_

_“Come on. We’ll use the emergency exit to get out.”_

_But Will made no move, and for another long moment they all stood poised in terrible uncertainty. Will’s eyes flickered to her and to the gun in her hand, and her grip tightened unconsciously. ‘You reckless little man, what are you going to do?’ she thought, with mounting worry. He knew Hannibal shared the same uncertainty, but while he was excited and accepting of Will’s unpredictability, she was irritated and frightened. She wondered what she would do if Will would lunge at her for possession of the gun. Would she kill him? Probably. She allowed herself to fantasize about it. The sharp sound of footsteps brought her out of her reverie. Hannibal and Will had gone. The moment was over. Bedelia allowed a shaky breath to slip past barely opened lips._

_“Damn them to hell”, she murmured, and wasn’t conscious of having spoken until Jack spoke right next to her:_

_“I appreciate the sentiment.”_

_She turned sharply, annoyed at herself for letting her guard down._

_“But now they’re gone and we have to decide what we are going to do,” Jack went on._

_“I know what we’re going to do. Downstairs. Move.”_

_“Before you do anything hasty, Bedelia, listen to me.”_

_“We have a whole drive ahead of us, Jack. We can talk in the car.”_

_“No”, Jack raised his voice. “I’m not going anywhere. You can either shoot me here, or sit down and listen to me.”_

_Bedelia sighed in exasperation. It had all been so simple before._

_She slumped into a chair, but kept her gun trained on Jack._

_“Start talking”, she said._

_Jack took a deep breath._

_“I don’t know what deal you have struck with Hannibal, but you must know that I am not so alone as I have let everyone believe.”_

_Bedelia snorted._

_“Nice try.”_

_“I mean it. People know where I am, people at the FBI. Every move I make, it is with their knowledge.”_

_“I’m sorry but that’s bullshit. I know they’ve discredited you and all but kicked you out of the Bureau.”_

_“That’s what – Okay well, yes. They did. But there are people in the Bureau who still believe in me. People who know first-hand the danger that is Hannibal Lecter and the dire consequences of him not being stopped. These people have my back. You don’t want them against you, Bedelia. Especially since”, he looked at Bedelia meaningfully, “they know.”_

_Bedelia stared at Jack, frowning, worried but disbelieving._

_“You wouldn’t. Exposing me would mean exposing your own indiscretion.”_

_“And so I did. I had nothing to lose. I realized I had to come clean to a select few to avoid further indignity. And I felt the better for it.”_

_“Yes”, Bedelia said bitterly. “The world is full of men who betray, and confess, then feel ‘the better for it’. You’re pathetic. A pathetic man.”_

_Jack didn’t answer for a while._

_“Maybe I am. And I’m sorry. But don’t kill me for it. Don’t play Hannibal’s game.”_

_Bedelia raised an eyebrow in mock surprise._

_“Do you have a better game offer for me?” she asked, exhaustion in her voice._

_“Perhaps I do. I – we – can give you immunity. Like we gave you for killing your patient. We can try to give you immunity for your husband too, if you help us catch Hannibal.”_

_“No. No way. I’m not crazy suicidal. I’d rather kill you and spend the rest of my life running from the FBI. I fear Hannibal much more than I fear going to prison.”_

_“Alright. That’s understandable. But Bedelia – I’m not asking you to risk your life. I’m not asking you to do anything, except let me go, then lie to Hannibal about it. I’ll do the rest. And in return – when Hannibal is finally caught – because I will catch him, Bedelia, I won’t rest until I do, you have my word, then you can come back, and testify-“_

_“Hell no. I’ll be reading about it from the other side of the world,” her voice already unsteady, her eyes rapidly filling with tears._

_“But you will let me go?”_

_Bedelia stood up from her chair and paced around, eyes wild, considering._

_“What happens if you don’t catch him and he finds out I’ve betrayed him?” she blurted out, shaking with nerves. “I can’t – I can’t do it, Jack-“ her feet suddenly gave way and she collapsed in a trembling heap, gun sliding out of her hand._

_Jack reached down and picked up the gun, then gently helped Bedelia to her feet._

_“The key to these cuffs is in the left pocket of my pants, would you mind?” he said, quietly, not letting go of the gun._

_Mindlessly, Bedelia reached into the pocket of his pants and extracted the key, then unlocked the cuffs. She let them fall out of numb hands, still shaking. Jack put the gun away then reached for her trembling hands, and pressed them in his own._

_“It will be alright, Bedelia. Trust me.”_

“Once we were alone, Jack persuaded me to let him go. He told me people knew about – my husband, that he had told people at the bureau and they agreed to grant me immunity if I cooperated in the capture of Hannibal Lecter. I agreed.”

Miriam’s lips were pressed in a tight line as she squinted at Bedelia.

“No”, she said. “No. None of this makes sense. You’re hiding things from me and you’re lying to me. You've got your immunity, and trust me, I don't care about what you did to your asshole of an abusive husband, as long as there are bigger fish to fry, so why are you still lying to me? Why would Hannibal Lecter just leave and trust you to take care of Jack Crawford by yourself? Why were you so quick to change your mind about Jack Crawford if you really wanted to get into Hannibal’s good books? And why-”

Bedelia shook her head, with sudden annoyance.

“There is nothing to understand”, she blurted. “I have no agenda. Like I told you, I’m a survivor. I do what I can to remain that. I survived my husband, yes. And I am going to survive Hannibal Lecter. All that may not always make for a good narrative to tell in court, Agent Lass, but that is all I can offer you. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’re just wasting my time – and I yours.”

Miriam leaned back in her chair. She looked away, to hide the pity and vulnerability in her eyes.

“But I am, however, glad, to have made your acquaintance”, Bedelia ended, her tone going soft and earnest.

~

Will was in Hannibal’s kingdom under the sea.

The water around him sparkled like diamonds, it filled his nose and clung to his eyelashes, but he was not afraid. He felt strangely fluid, at one with the ocean. Hannibal had dirt and seashells in his hair and his eyes were glassy – but he laughed at Will and Will laughed back. His touch felt cold and soothing on Will’s heated naked back. Hannibal whispered in Will’s ear, like a dirge, a chant or a promise - or was it Will’s own voice in his head: “Screams fill some of these places, but the corridors do not echo screaming, because I hear music. Slowly, slowly, come to me. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown, till human voices wake us, and we drown. Slowly, slowly, come. Do not linger. It is not safe.” Yet Will felt absurdly safe – until he did not. His eyes widened in panic, and Hannibal’s touch on his back became the grip of a claw, and the press of the ocean was suddenly smothering. He shook his head – water was weighing down his hair – and moving was difficult, it hurt to breathe, like the horrible memory of a stone slab on his chest. He gasped and suddenly found himself on the floor of the Norman Chapel, lying curled on top of the grinning skeleton.

Hannibal descended from the altar, immaculately dressed.

“Will – are you alright?”

“Uh – god.”

Hannibal smiled imperceptibly.

“Is God who you came here to see?”

“I came here to see _you_ ”, Will said accusingly. “As you advised.”

“You made quite an appearance”, Hannibal snickered. Then he frowned: “Is there anything wrong? Your entrance here was always…seamless.”

Will rubbed his face roughly, then sighed:

“I think it’s these drugs they give me. They’re making me…unstable. Even more so than I already am, heh”, he tried to joke. “I – I’m having a lot of bad dreams. Like a lot. More than usual. And they feel – worse than usual. I’m less able to um- control them. It feels like back when I had encephalitis, of sorts.”

Hannibal nosed through his curls, scenting him. Will shivered.

“I smelled fever on you, when I held you back in the hospital, but nothing else. Here you just smell like home to me.”

He took Will’s hand and led him towards the altar.

“I’ll have Metcalfe look into it. They may be doing this on purpose, to make you appear unreliable at the trial.”

He gripped Will’s waist, and without any warning, lifted him up onto the altar.

“Hannibal, what are you doing?” Will protested. “The people-“

He turned instinctively towards the pews, but there was no one there. Will stared. The large imposing room felt eerie devoid of the usual crowd, the only company the soft lights of the candles. He turned back to Hannibal, who smirked.

“I felt like a bit of privacy. I’ve hardly had any these days. It has been – demeaning.”

He stepped closer, pressing his body to Will’s, his head on Will’s chest, hugging him closely.

“What are you doing?” Will repeated, more gently, running his hands through Hannibal’s hair.

“Worshiping you”, Hannibal answered, running soothing but insistent fingers down Will’s chest, and lower, towards his abdomen. “Will you let me?”

“Here?” Will asked, breathlessly. “It seems somehow – blasphemous.”

Hannibal chuckled.

“You aren’t religious.”

“Yes but – it still feels wrong, somehow.”

Hannibal shrugged.

“Not to me. But you know, Will – you are free and damned to imagine anything. This is your palace, too. I have been sharing it with you for a while now. You are free to imagine –“

“A boat”, Will interrupted him. “A boat, safely moored, on a bayou.”

Hannibal smiled with indulgent affection.

“Such a simple boy you are”, he said, but Will found no mockery in his voice. He bent his head and kissed Hannibal’s smiling lips as the scenery changed around him. It was a quiet evening, silence broken only by the sound of faraway nocturnal insects and animals and the sky and water were bathed in pale red lightly touched by soft blue. The boat was rocking slowly underneath him – the wet planks smelled reassuringly familiar. He closed his eyes, enjoying Hannibal’s touches. He was getting hard under his ministrations, but there was no urgency to it. He felt boneless and relaxed.

Hannibal’s lips found one of his nipples, which he lavished with gentle attention. He sucked and lapped at it, until Will sobbed brokenly, sensations overwhelming him. Then he moved to the other, and then finally, down Will’s body, teeth nipping softly at the scar on his abdomen, as he liked to do. Will writhed and panted, grabbing fistfuls of Hannibal’s hair. Hannibal’s mouth moved lower still, as Will watched him, stricken, pupils blown, eyelids barely open against the onslaught of pleasure.

When Hannibal’s warm mouth finally engulfed his cock, Will felt the urgency like the fiery blade of a knife. Hannibal licked and slurped greedily, obscene sounds that pierced the silence around them. Will’s body twisted and tried to thrust, but Hannibal pulled back, laughing. Dizzy with arousal, Will laughed back, and reached out a hand to tangle again in Hannibal’s hair and guide him back onto his cock. Hannibal went, and when he sank back onto it this time, he allowed Will to thrust into his mouth, open and pliant. Will keened, burning with the power and pleasure of it, as he set a desperate, stuttering pace. Hannibal placed both arms around his hips, grounding his thrusts, and allowed his mouth to be used. Will forced his eyes open and looked down, his heart skipping several beats at the sight of Hannibal swallowing down his cock, eyelids fluttering with concentration. Feeling his gaze, Hannibal looked up at him, eyes amber-black. Will shuddered at the idea that Hannibal was seeing him spread out upon the altar, like an offering, a sacrifice, or a blessed morsel.

“Ahhhh”, Will moaned loudly, as the pleasure became almost torturous in its intensity. “How is- you’re – oh – you-“

Usually, Hannibal sucking his cock was something that made Will come embarrassingly fast, but now he was struggling onto a brink of almost unbearable sweetness for what seemed like ages. It was overwhelming.

“You’re killing me”, Will finally managed. “Please – please let me –“

Hannibal looked up at him serenely, with an almost infuriating glimmer in his eyes.

“Yes, Will?” he spoke, around Will’s cock stuffing his mouth.

“Ahh, God. Hannibal, Please let me-“

Hannibal flicked his tongue sharply along the underside of Will’s cock and, swallowing him down to the base of his throat, started sucking at him like he wanted to consume him. Will shattered. He fell back, eyes rolling in the back of his head, and mind a perfect blank, he came apart into a million pieces – he must have spilled into Hannibal’s mouth but he was unconscious of it, although Hannibal’s pleased and greedy rumble reverberated through his body like the notes of an hymn.

Gradually, he became aware of himself in Hannibal’s arms. They were back in the Norman Chapel, and Hannibal was once again dressed in his plaid suit. The choir was singing hallelujah. Will’s lips curled in a smile.

“Did you like it?” Hannibal asked him.

“ _Like_ is an understatement”, Will mumbled.

“Did it feel strange and unreal, and did nothing to soothe your ache for me?” Hannibal mimicked his earlier words, with the benevolent superiority of one who always knows better.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I am glad to see that you also found it in you to transcend the physical.”

“You’re truly insufferable. I’m going to pay you back in kind.”

~

After hours, alone in his office, Byron Metcalfe locked the door and dialed a number, loosening his tie in the process.

“Ms Lounds? This is Byron Metcalfe speaking. You have frequently contacted me in the past, for the purpose of an interview.”

“Mr. Metcalfe, yes, hello”, Freddie’s eager voice came over the line.

The lawyer heaved a long-suffering sigh. The things one did for one’s career.

“I am hereby calling to tentatively agree to your proposal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown, till human voices wake us, and we drown" - Lines too lovely to be mine, they're from the famous TS Eliot poem 'The love song of J Alfred Prufrock'.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the summary for this fic *again*. I suck at proper summaries. And at adding proper tags... I know and I'm sorry.

The café was almost empty at that early hour of the morning, Byron Metcalfe was relieved to note. The red-haired woman was sitting alone at the table, a laptop open in front of her. There were two cups of coffee next to her, both untouched. He hesitantly came up to the table and asked:

“Ms Lounds, I presume?”

She looked up at him and smiled, rising and extending her hand. Metcalfe took it and was taken aback when he received a vigorous shake.

“Mr. Metcalfe”, Freddie said. “I hope you don’t mind”, she said, gesturing to the two cups of coffee, “I took the liberty of ordering for you.”

“I don’t mind at all”, Metcalfe rushed to say with more than palpable relief.

Freddie pursed her lips in amusement as she resumed her seat.

“Rather not be seen with me, is it?” she guessed, shrewdly.

“Ms. Lounds, I confess to grudgingly admire your tenacity but not your attitude. However, needs must.”

“Oh, Mr. Metcalfe, we’re not all that different. We both employ questionable methods to achieve our ends”, Freddie answered, unperturbed.

“Yes. Well.” The lawyer coughed. “I’ll be honest with you.”

He took the seat opposite her and pulled one of the coffee cups closer.

“Honesty is a rare trait in your profession”, Freddie prodded.

Metcalfe looked up sharply, only to be met by an earnest, encouraging smile.

“As in yours, Miss”, he replied immediately, and received a nod for his trouble.

“I am afraid that between us at this point, honesty is paramount – if we are to achieve our respective – ends.”

“Then let me begin by saying I’ve no illusion regarding the innocence, or should I say, guilt, of your clients.”

Byron Metcalfe broke into a wide, genuine grin.

“My dear Miss Lounds, neither do I. Nor will I attempt to persuade anyone to believe otherwise – it would be a losing battle.”

Freddie nodded, attentively.

“Then I think I can guess what you want. The public’s sympathy. Believe me, you’ve come to the best place for that.”

“I have certainly come to the only person with little enough scruples to grant me that”, Metcalfe said, then instantly regretted the insult, which Freddie acknowledged with barely a smile, and added: “I am glad to see you so attuned and receptive.”

Freddie shrugged.

“The people want to believe the worst in Hannibal. They also want to believe in the best in him. It is the classic fairytale of the monster redeemed.”

“Redeemed by love?”

“Isn’t that the story you wish to be told?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“Do you believe that to be the truth? Has Will Graham changed Hannibal Lecter into something other than a monster?”

The lawyer debated how to answer that question, wondering which answer Freddie Lounds might like to hear. He busied himself with pouring a hefty amount of sugar into his coffee and stirring.

“I don’t know them well enough to pronounce myself on that aspect”, he finally said. “May I ask what you believe?”

Freddie considered.

“I do believe they changed each other, not necessarily for the better. I don’t believe either of them are less of the monsters they had been without the other, but having borrowed each other’s scars and deformities, they’ve turned into stranger, possibly even more dangerous, creatures. “

The lawyer nodded, reflectively.

“And yet, you’re willing to help me.”

“As you pointed out, I have no scruples.”

Metcalfe sighed and arranged the collar of his coat.

“Scruples are hardly necessary, in fact. I’m not aiming to achieve their freedom. I am not as insanely confident to attempt that – or as brave. The reality remains, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham will spend the rest of their lives in prison. My efforts are limited to trying to spare Hannibal the rope.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee as if to say ‘come what may.’

“The rope seems almost inevitable in the wake of his refuted insanity plea,” Freddie argued.

“And yet –“

“Do you really think there’s any hope of achieving this just by me telling the world how he tucked  Will Graham in at night?”

“The public is gullible and you know as well as I do how they gobble up twisted love stories. But I grant you, a jury will not be so easy to sway. So this is just part of it. The other part involves – muddying the waters. Make it less than the black and white it appears to be. While we wash some of the soot off Hannibal Lecter, we must do our best to trample the white knights through the mud.”

Freddie gave a brief smile, quick to understand.

“You want to make the FBI look bad. Again, you have come to the best place for that.”

Metcalfe broke into an answering grin.

“I know. And the best part is, how easy they’re making it for us.”  

Metcalfe leaned back in his seat and sipped contently at his coffee.

Freddie placed her recorder on the table.

“Well, Mr. Metcalfe. If you’re ready. Shall we begin?”

~

“Try to get a hold of the woman Graham called. The one who takes care of their dog.”

“The Jap? Been there, done that. She refuses to come. And according to Jones, we have no real reason to subpoena her.”

“Did you call her ‘Jap’ while you tried to persuade her to come? Jesus, Bennett, you’re an idiot.”

“Hey, of course I did not, but I don’t see the reason why I should be fucking polite when I got no reason to! You’re pissed things aren’t going your way, so quit taking it out on me, Miriam!”

Jack Crawford entered the room and caught the last of their exchange.

He smiled at Taylor Bennett in apparent amusement:

“Selective politeness. You’re lucky Hannibal’s imprisoned.”

“Yes, I’m one of the lucky ones, aren’t I”, Bennett sneered, doing the air quotes to emphasize it, “who won’t be eaten or burned alive or mutilated, or all of the above, just because one man feels like it!” His voice raised progressively as he went on. “And meanwhile – _we’re_ the baddies! Did you see that tramp’s article? Hanging on issues like jurisdiction and procedure, when the end result is finally capturing the world’s most prolific serial killer? Who, _who_ , I ask you, is dumb enough to buy this crap?” He waved the magazine around. “ _Love among the Corpses_? Seriously?? Well pardon me for interrupting the cannibalistic love fest!”

“I think you’ll find a great many do buy this crap, judging by the number of people gathered outside with placards”, Miriam interrupted bitterly. 

She took the magazine from him and thrust it in Jack’s hands.

“Friend of yours, is she?” she sneered.

“Far from it”, Jack answered.

“She certainly seems to think so. Her purple prose is sickening, by the way.”

“Freddie Lounds has no boundaries-”

“It’s crazy, Jack, it’s degrading!” Miriam shouted, ignoring him. “God, is the world going crazy, or is it just me? Oh, Ms Lounds is sure having her fun with this! She just loves it, humiliating us, making us having to defend ourselves for wanting justice!”

Bennett made a noise of agreement. Miriam stopped just as abruptly as she had started, her lip trembling as she sank back into her chair.

Jack put the magazine aside and bent down to her level, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, in a gesture of paternal affection.

“Miriam. Listen. Freddie Lounds has been a thorn in my side for a long time. Trust me, I know how you feel.” He stood up to include Bennett into the conversation. “We have to stay calm and not lose focus. Any dissension among us will only get amplified and further used against us. It’s what Hannibal wants. It’s what his lawyer will definitely work to his advantage.”

Miriam nodded.

“We are dealing with malicious and clever people who will stop at nothing. I know. I am prepared. For my part, I would like Lecter transferred to maximum security as soon as possible. Every moment he lingers in a hospital, with less guards outside his door than I would require for a good night’s sleep, is a moment risked. And I don’t believe for a second he is as weak as his doctors say he is.”

“You are right. But let’s take it one step at a time. We’re moving Will back to his cell tomorrow. Let’s try to do it without a mass uprising from the crowd. And if we have to go through the humiliation, as you say, of defending ourselves, to have Hannibal Lecter finally punished for good, then so be it.”

“Could even deal some humiliation in turn”, Bennett muttered under his breath, but neither Miriam nor Jack paid him any mind.

~

“Remember that time you were feeling hopeless?”

Hannibal wrinkled his nose as if the memory was distasteful.

“I was terrified”, Will continued. "I'd never seen you like that before.”

Hannibal made a non-committal noise.

“It was a strange night, that”, he finally offered.

“And this is a stranger one still.”

They were lying in bed, on crisp white sheets. The room was cold, a window was open to the night, the rustle of nocturnal birds and the scent of wet leaves filtering in. It was their shared home in Suvereto, and if Will closed his eyes very very tight, he could more than imagine it, he could almost believe entirely in their presence there. _Could you be happy there?_ His former question rang in his mind, this time directed at himself. God, I could try. _If I had no other choice._

“If you’re curious to know”, Hannibal’s voice came to him, “and perhaps incongruously, since the situation does not warrant it, I am not feeling hopeless now. Nor helpless.”

“Why?” Will asked curiously. “What is it that gives you strength?”

Hannibal shrugged minutely.

“The fact that I am alive – yet again, despite all odds. Cheating Death, beating it at its own game, gives one an intoxicating feeling of power. Also, everyone expects me now to feel that way – hopeless and helpless – which gives me a distinct psychological advantage.”

Fingers tracing Hannibal’s breastbone, Will whispered to him:

“Do you remember what you said, back when you _were_ feeling hopeless?”

“You obviously do”, Hannibal answered, tone quiet and slurred, like he was close to sleep. “So say it.”

“You said that you felt trapped by your own design, that you and me were recreating the same game patterns, no matter what we did. Do you still believe that?”

“Less so, after our shared adventure in Aukštaitija.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what you said. About all the things you’ve said to me, Hannibal. I had nothing else to do, back when I thought you were dead, in the stark white loneliness of my cell, but think. Remember. Suffer. You would have loved seeing me, you’d have found the extremes of my distress fascinating, although in my opinion they were hardly aesthetic.” Will shook his head, with a hollow laugh.

“I am sorry they lied to you, Will. But I am grateful for the opportunity that was given to you to ponder over our discussions and interactions.”

“You were right. What you said to me back then, that’s the truth of it, or as close a version of it as any of us can grasp, while we still see through a glass, darkly. Whether we’re running from each other, or towards each other, or from ourselves, we’re still doomed to run, caught in the eternal chase.”

Hannibal nodded.

“I have used the very metaphor in a conversation with Jack Crawford once. You are familiar with the Greek legend, I take it.”

“The creature destined to catch everything it chased pitted against the creature destined never to be caught. How does one solve such a paradox?”

“The irresistible force paradox”, Hannibal mused. “In Greek mythology, of course, the elegant solution is to cast the chaser and the chased in the stars as constellations. But I concede, that was pretty much the solution to everything in Greek mythology.”

“And not a very practical one for us.”

“Indeed not.”

“But then, I thought about that time after Muskrat Farm, when we sat together in my house in Wolf Trap, and I told you I wasn’t going to come find you, I wasn’t going to follow you, chase you, not even in my mind. That was me trying to break out of the loop. And you surrendering, that was yours. _That_ was supposed to be our game-changer. And in a way, it was. So why then, did we keep on falling back on the same patterns?”

Hannibal ran his fingers in a smooth caress down Will’s jaw.

“Habits are difficult to break. Relationships are habitual interactions based on mutual expectations. There is also something else we did in your house in Wolf Trap that day, do you remember?”

“Of course”, Will murmured. “You kissed me.”

“I did”, Hannibal said, fingers tracing Will’s lips lazily.

Will pressed a lingering kiss to the tips of Hannibal’s fingers. He wanted to sit up and claim Hannibal’s mouth properly, but refrained, in favour of asking:

“What made you do it?”

“What a question to ask, Will. What could make anyone do such a thing. Desire. Curiosity. Wanting to offer pleasure and receive it in turn.”

“Yes, anyone, but you are not just _anyone_ , Hannibal. You were giving me something extra to miss you for. You were exceptionally cruel in that moment.”

“As you had been before. Besides, you could have always said no. What made you say yes?”

“Desire. Curiosity”, Will mimicked. “Wanting to give pleasure and receive it in turn.”

Hannibal grinned and acquiesced:

“Fair enough.”

Will sat up and finally gave in to the impulse of kissing the smile off Hannibal’s face. Without meaning to, he mirrored the slow, searching and tasting quality of the first kiss Hannibal had given him. When he finally pulled back, Hannibal opened his eyes slowly, and Will saw that the meaning of his actions were not lost on his ever-attentive partner.

“Maybe I was also giving myself something to remember you by”, Hannibal said, offhandedly.

Will’s lips curled against Hannibal’s neck, where he had been applying long sucking kisses, and eagerly unbuttoned his shirt, to subject his exposed chest to the same treatment. Hannibal brushed his fingertips lightly along Will’s naked back, allowing him to do as he pleased.

“I am glad you’re not feeling hopeless anymore”, Will murmured, as he reached the waistband of Hannibal’s trousers. He blew a light breath onto his crotch and Hannibal arched up, moaning. “Because neither am I.”

“Ahh – oh, that’s good.”

Will snickered and undid the buttons of Hannibal’s pants slowly, pulling them off his hips, just enough to free his cock. He gave it a slow lick, relishing the way that Hannibal fought to hang on to the remnants of his self control.

“You’re unhappy with this situation, aren’t you?”

Hannibal opened one eye.

“I assure you, Will, I am perfectly happy with this situation.”

“Not this,” Will laughed. “The situation of us being imprisoned. Even if you managed to escape the death penalty, which is a big _If_ , we’d still never see each other. Except like this.”

“Will, at the moment, more pressing matters are vying for my attention. If you would.”

“If I would…?”

“…. Carry on.”

“Say pretty please.”

“You started it.”

“And I fully intend on finishing it. I want to see you lose it completely. I’m gonna fuck you up so thoroughly, you’re gonna forget your own name.”

Hannibal laughed, an unguarded, startled sound, which Will found lovely.

“That’s shockingly threadbare of you to say, Will.”

“But the sentiment behind it is genuine. And as you’ll see, quite true.”

He redirected his attention to the object of his desire; Hannibal’s cock curving proudly and enticingly in front of him, Will’s mouth positively watering at the sight. He lowered his head towards it slowly. They both watched, enraptured, as half the length disappeared between Will’s parted lips, Hannibal’s pleased sigh fading on a moan. Every one of Will’s senses were overwhelmed in that moment. He had an inkling now of how Hannibal felt when confronted with beauty. His own cock throbbed madly, but he did not give in to the impulse to touch it, lest he lose what little focus he had. Lest he lose the control he wished to have in this moment over the beautiful creature subjected to his attentions. He sucked, torturously slow, with sensual swipes of the tongue teasing over the increasingly throbbing member filling his mouth. Hannibal strained against him, hips rising off the mattress in desperate entreaty. His hands flew to Will’s head, grabbing clumps of his hair, pushing him down to get him to swallow his cock whole.

Will shook his head like an errant horse.

“Nuh-uh”, he said, his voice rough. “You’re cheating, Hannibal. That _won’t do_.”

Hannibal grinned up at him, with a besotted expression:

“What won’t do?”

The smile faded abruptly from Hannibal’s face, as Will gathered both his arms and looped a belt around his wrists, to be replaced by a look of vaguely uneasy intrigue.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you take what I’m giving you, and nothing more.”

“That is unusually kinky of you, Will. I’m pretty sure you’d never try this for real.”

“Oh, one never knows. I may just work up the courage one day.”

“Interesting. Until then-“ Hannibal lay back, his bound arms above his head, the picture of expectant submission. “if this is what you want, then you shall have it.”

Will’s breathing sped up.

He then proceeded to worship Hannibal’s cock like he had always wanted, but could never quite bring himself to – out of fear he’d be inadequate, or too sloppy, that it would be too much or not enough. He sucked on Hannibal’s increasingly hardening flesh like it was something made for his pleasure alone, like every lick and every taste brought him sustenance. He was barely aware of making small greedy noises, betraying his own desperate arousal. Gradually, he also became aware that Hannibal was groaning underneath him, amid heaving breaths, hips twitching in Will’s clawing grip, like he was in the throes of unbearable pain, instead of the mind-numbing pleasure Will wished to deal him. There were hot tears running down his face and for a moment, Will was shocked into stillness, stunned, afraid that he had gone to far.

“Hannibal”, he whispered, and he clambered up to untie his hands.

“No”, Hannibal said, a wrecked, strangled sound. “Keep going. It’s your show, dear love, so run it.”

Will kissed his face, tasting his tears with depraved relish. He ran his hands down his torso, squeezing possessively, claiming the flesh of the man before him for his touch alone. When he sank back down onto Hannibal’s cock, he swallowed it whole, tip to base; his throat convulsed with the unfamiliar feeling but he chose to ignore it. He sucked, hollowing his cheeks, and he heard Hannibal scream in wild abandon. Slowly, he let it slip out of his mouth only to take it rapidly back all the way in, his throat fluttering and clenching around it, forcing another scream out of Hannibal. Will sucked harder, increasing the rhythm, over the sounds of Hannibal pleading and swearing in an unfamiliar language. He felt like he was falling apart right alongside Hannibal, his own mind throbbed with the feeling of their combined pleasure, and he knew he couldn’t do it anymore – it was too much, he couldn’t be the dispassionate dealer of pleasure, watching Hannibal fall to pieces underneath him, as he had envisioned at the start of his fantasy, and not wholly succumb to it himself.

Will’s rhythm faltered. He reached up, unsteadily, and untied Hannibal’s hands.

“Do it like you want to. I want to see you. Don’t hold back. Just use my mouth.”

Hannibal looked like he wanted to murder Will or murder the world for him – the distinction had always been a slippery one. He abruptly flipped Will off the bed with one arm, and positioned him, head propped against the edge of the bed, as he loomed over him, cock in hand, to feed it to him. Will opened his mouth and watched Hannibal steadily. He still didn’t want to miss a thing. Hannibal thrust, savagely, like an unleashed beast. His cock fucked into Will’s mouth powerfully, nudging the back of his throat with cruel insistence, resting hot and heavy on his tongue. Will’s eyes filled with tears, but he blinked quickly to clear him, and kept watching. Hannibal’s eyes slipped tightly shut, his mouth opened on a fierce snarl, his beautiful features hardening as his entire body grew taut with strain, in the increasingly urgent chase for release. Fingers tightened on Will’s scalp, gripping like claws. Hannibal’s cock pulsed and twitched like a living creature, in the warm cavern of Will’s mouth. And then, finally, with a cry like he was mortally wounded, Hannibal spilled, his grip on Will’s hair gradually loosened, and his legs gave way – he collapsed next to Will, by the side of the bed. Will swallowed what Hannibal had given him, and clambered up to kiss him, pushing his tongue into Hannibal’s slack mouth forcefully, to share the taste with him.

“If you were trying to kill me again…”, Hannibal managed on a whisper.

“I’ll never try to kill you again”, Will answered, seriously. With some difficulty, he managed to manhandle Hannibal back on the bed, and lay down next to him, his head pillowed on Hannibal’s still heaving chest. “Killing _with_ you, now that’s another story, and when it comes to the people who are keeping me from you, I confess I’m giving it serious thought.”

Hannibal was completely spent and boneless, but his cock twitched with a sliver of renewed interest.

~

“I would like to speak to Will about his testimony at the trial.”

“Will won’t be testifying.”

Metcalfe laughed, relaxed.

“Maybe not on your behalf. But I’m calling him to the stand.”

“He won’t set foot anywhere near the court”, Miriam answered, curtly.

“You can’t do this.”

“I can. I’ve got expert medical opinion says I can. Quote, any involvement in Hannibal Lecter’s case will be a serious setback to Mr. Graham’s psychological recovery, unquote.”

“We’ll see what the jury says. His testimony may prove paramount.”

“To what? He’s got nothing to say about Hannibal Lecter that we don’t already know. You just want him to sit there and look pleadingly at the jury with his big blue eyes and spin some sugary tale about how Lecter is some sort of sensitive psychopath whom he loves him so very much. I’ve just got back from seeing _how much_. And what it did to him.”

“After you lied to him that Hannibal was dead, you mean?”

“A necessary lie, meant to give him his life back. A life which he apparently doesn’t even believe he’s entitled to, anymore. Shows just how messed up he is. All thanks to Hannibal’s pernicious influence on him. It’s all in a day’s work for Dr. Lecter.”

“A life”, Metcalfe picked up, “which he never really had, before, if I’m to believe accounts from those who knew Mr. Graham.”

“No life is better than _this_ life”, Miriam spat.

“I’m not here to argue morality or psychology with you. Nor am I, indeed, overly interested in Mr. Graham’s well being, only insofar as it affects my client’s case. As such, I am obliged to inform you that you are violating this man’s constitutional rights by not allowing him to testify in Dr. Lecter’s case, and I will make sure _everyone_ knows it.”

“Go ahead! I’ll invite anyone who wishes to challenge the opinion of our medical expert to meet with Mr. Graham and decide for themselves his suitability for testimony in court.”

“You’re drugging him, aren’t you?” Metcalfe asked bluntly.

Miriam regarded him steadily.

“Mr. Metcalfe….Byron Metcalfe, is it? How important is this case to you? I am asking this because I’m afraid we’re operating under different premises here. See, I know you’re only doing your job here, so your answer will necessarily have to be ‘in the greater scheme of things, not very important.’ But to me, this case is _everything_. So have a care.”

“ _Agent_ Lass, are you suggesting I am not to afford my client the best of legal representation? Do less than my very best?”

“Not at all. Represent him all you want. I am simply advising you not to marshal all your resources into a battle which, I guarantee, you are not going to win. It will not do for your career to be in the FBI’s bad books on account of just one messy case.”

Metcalfe smiled, thinly:

“Duly noted.”

~

“By Agent Lass's efforts, this man who now awaits his death penalty at the hands of the state has recovered, against all odds, from mortal injuries.”

“Objection!”

“Elucidate, Mr. Metcalfe.”

“Her words exactly, as recounted by the paramedics on the scene, and I quote - I want this man alive. Make no mistake and spare nothing, The FBI will sign off on any and all charges. He won't get off so easily, unquote”, Metcalfe recited the passionate diatribe on an even tone, but enunciating each word carefully. “Shockingly unprofessional”, he pronounced. “This is Wild West vendetta, not justice. This agent of the F B I talks of life and death as if they were hers to command. Her agenda with my client is clearly personal. Let that sink in: this man was given medical attention the likes of which your children could never dream of –“

“Objection-“

“Sustained; rephrase, Mr. Metcalfe.”

“- was given medical attention which spared _no_ costs and _no_ resources – just so that he could be killed by the state.”

Metcalfe waved an arm as if to abruptly dismiss all of that, and continued, conversationally:

“Would you like to hear Agent Lass’ instruction regarding the treatment of Will Graham? Again, I quote: Try your best but nothing extra. Surprisingly callous, is it not? I remind the jury that Will Graham was a consultant with the FBI for many years, once wrongfully accused, in a scandal involving FBI misconduct. The man who was at the core of this misconduct is still working for the FBI, in fact, if in a rather less than official capacity. The FBI covers their own”, Metcalfe rumbled. “Except, it seems, when it comes to Will Graham. But Graham is not on trial here. Hannibal Lecter is on trial here. A man whom eminent minds in the psychological field have yet to reach a consensus about how to label him. Have yet to reach a consensus about his state of mind. There is enough doubt surrounding the case of Hannibal Lecter to make one pause and shirk from any definitives. Ah but such a one must look at his case with the eye of reason, a cold, unbiased eye – and who here can do that? Certainly not the prosecution, who, as I have shown, _gleefully_ broke procedure at each turn under cover of their badges! Eventually, ladies and gentlemen, one has to wonder, whether it is my client who is really on trial here, or the noble institution one turns to for protection and unbiased judgement – the FBI itself. When one can no longer trust the very agents of the law to uphold the Law, one cannot help but wonder, where will they stop? How safe are we all, really?”

Miriam’s face was burning. Next to her, Bennett had his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“He’s making fools out of us.”

“He won’t get away with it. The jury can’t all be idiots”, Miriam answered through gritted teeth. Then, unwilling to hear anything more, she stood up and left the court room.

Bennett forced himself to remain seated. His attention wandered as scattered thoughts of vengeance and resentment began to take more tangible shape in his mind. His hands gradually relaxed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for attempted sexual assault, that gets swiftly dealt with, however. Skip if it triggers you.

“I want you to get into Graham’s cell and knock him around a little. Nothing serious, of course. Try not to leave marks. Just scare him some. Bring him down a notch.”

Bennett sized up the man in front of him and smiled encouragingly.

“We all know what it’s like in prison, sometimes people need to be shown their place, right, Mole?”

“Eh, yeah but…that guy”, Mole said, scratching his elbow uncertainly, “he’s been with that _Other one,_ and that man, ‘fuck’s sakes, he’s giving me the creeps.”

“I did not ask you to get close to the _other one_ , now did I?”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid, what if he’s taught _this one_ a thing or two? I heard he _bites_.”

“Then you better watch your delicate parts, Mole”, Bennett said derisively.

“Point is, you never know with these fucking psychos.”

“You’re not exactly an innocent man, yourself. You killed three men in cold blood.”

“Well yeah, but I mean, it was all for money, wannit? I’m not a _freak_.”

“But _they are_ ,” Bennett said harshly. “And they need to be taught a lesson. Shit happens in prison. You know it better than anyone. You go in, knock him around, you go out. Nobody’s any wiser. And in return, you get two hours extra in the sports room, for a month.”

Mole still looked unconvinced.

“Don’t you wanna have some fun?”

“I can get my own fun”, Mole shrugged.

“He’s really pretty, you know. You can do whatever you want to him. We’re cool with it. See no evil, hear no evil, you know. Just show him who’s boss.”

Mole remained silent, and Bennett tapped his fingers, impatiently, and rose.

“Come on, Mole. This kind of deal gets done all the time.”

“I know it does, but now I’m scared, alright? Man enough to admit, I’m creeped by these two-”

Bennett looked back at him

“Whey-faced chicken”, he laughed. “You’re gonna land in Graham’s cell tonight as soon as I get off duty. What you do there is up to you.”

~

His hands were pressed onto the bars, the heavy weight of the man’s body pressing against his back, the curls at the back of his neck parted by hot urgent breaths. _Pretty boy, do you know what we do to pretty boys around here._ A moist mouth pressing on the revealed skin at the nape. Fingers questing for the waistband of his pants. No no- one hand freed, he tried to strike. His head was slammed powerfully against the bars. The panting creature behind him grew two heads – his shadow loomed, it couldn’t have been a man, it couldn’t – this wasn’t like anything Will knew or imagined he could bear – don’t fucking touch me, don’t – he was being rubbed against, the intimacy of it was horrible and the apparent inevitability of what was going to happen - Will’s hands, once more cruelly held against the bars, shook furiously and tried to grip – to squeeze – to punch – instead they beat fruitlessly like broken wings. But then – born out of the horror, out of the blood seeping from his head wound, from his nose, into his open mouth, a terrible strength fired up inside him, and Will opened wide eyes like liquid fire in a tormented ocean. He gripped the bars with steady, strong hands, and slammed his head viciously back, knocking out his attacker, who promptly crumpled to the floor in a heap. Will grunted harshly, as he pulled up his pants, wiped his face, smearing the blood, and circled the fallen man with weary fascination. What shall I do to you, what torture shall I inflict on you which would repay what you would do to me. Peel the skin from his bones, his mind supplied readily, break his kneecaps, bite his fingers off. Bite his _dick_ off. Stick your thumbs into his eyeballs. The unholy brainstorming was interrupted by faint stirring at his feet. In a flash, Will kneeled over the man, and started raining down punches on his stunned face – just as he had done long ago, in another lifetime, avenging another violation, the bones readily crunched, the blood readily flowed, and, just as past-Will had done, present-Will kept going, as if in a madness - he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t stop until the man beneath him was a still, broken mess, long-dead.

Will stood up on shaky legs, expecting the familiar rush of powerful righteousness to burn through his veins like whiskey during a cold day. It didn’t come. What he felt instead was the trickle of blood running steadily down his face, the sweat bathing his entire body like an unwanted second skin, and the buzz of abrupt unnatural silence in his ears.

Abruptly, he felt his stomach lurch. He only had time to bend over before he was sick all over the corpse. He fell back, and crawled into the furthest corner of the cell, away from the body, pressed his forehead against the bars and shivered, drenched in cold sweat and sticky with blood. 

~

Hannibal looked at the walls of the foyer of his mind palace, the unnatural stillness mirrored back at him.

Will wasn’t coming, not tonight.

It was a long time since he had been here alone, expectant and waiting, with the certainty that no rustle of another’s thoughts and feelings would come to mingle with his own. For the first time in a long time, he remembered his imprisonment at BSHCI and the solitude in his mind palace. One is always free and damned to imagine and remember anything, and Hannibal knew this better than anyone, but he had grown so accustomed with shared intimacy, in this, the most intimate of all places. Solitary enjoyment of even the most emotionally-charged moments in his life, seemed like pale recreations to him now. More than the idea of death, more than the almost certain likelihood of his death, this revelation frightened him. How inadvertently but thoroughly did Will manage to ‘fuck him up’ after all.

This second capture did not feel like a confinement to him so far, but now Hannibal remembered by association the weary loneliness of the first. The familiar comforts, and the beautiful memories – all like a gilded cage meant to entrap a dangerous and increasingly restless creature, resented and feared by _all_ , but tamed by _one_ , and thus, entrapped. To be tamed and then disowned, what a sad fate, to think one can untie the binds of mutual need, just like that. Will was for once, wrong, in assuming that Hannibal surrendered to break out of their Great Game. Hannibal had only ever wished to prolong the Game, if that meant having Will around him, or looking for him, or thinking about him. He didn’t think the bond between them could get broken for good – he didn’t think it was _fair_ for Fate to let that happen. It wasn’t fair for Will to let that happen, Will couldn’t just leave him, couldn’t just forget about him (forgetfulness, the thought was monstrous!), one becomes responsible forever for what they’ve tamed, and Hannibal would always be here, waiting, seemingly unaffected, but stubbornly faithful. A wait which had eventually been rewarded, but Hannibal wasn’t to know that – he would go to sleep every night with the knowledge that Will hadn’t come on this day either. If Hannibal were honest with himself, he could have sensed even then the stirrings of what had by now become an inevitability. Looking at distant memories like statues – frozen and immovable in their beauty, each afforded their rightful place, but their brilliant magic now faded like the sun at dusk. He could look at them like the little prince looked at the roses and tell them ‘You are beautiful but you’re empty. No one would die for you.’ Invading every corner of his mind, the hope that the one person Hannibal _would_ die for, would come and help him make new memories, to be cherished and bottled like warm honey, a safely-kept aid for future ailments. But Will hadn’t come then, for three long years, and Hannibal had schooled his features into benign impassiveness and waited, and waited, longer still.

With a dull ache like the anticipation of heartbreak, Hannibal’s present self wondered whether he would be doomed to wait for Will again – and maybe wait in vain.

~

Bennett lingered in the yard, smoking a cigarette, then lighting another, and another – he felt absurdly, and quite unreasonably nervous. Mole’s uneasiness had rubbed off onto him. Damn Graham and Lecter and everyone in between. He told the day guards they were being released earlier and he had half an hour until the evening guards showed up. He’d give it another ten minutes or so, then he’d get Mole out of there. A car pulled up abruptly in front of the building and it nearly gave Bennett a heart attack to see Miriam Lass step out. For a second, he considered running, and denying he had ever been here. But then, Miriam saw him.

“Taylor. What are you doing here?” she asked, stepping briskly towards him.

“What are _you_ doing here?” he screeched, with such forced joviality, it made him cringe.

“I’m here to talk to Will Graham”, Miriam said, sizing him up with predictable suspicion. “Lecter’s lawyer seems determined to get him assessed by his own experts, to test his suitability for appearing in court, and I’m here to see for myself just how big the danger is for him to be considered…suitable.”

“This man is getting way too much attention, if you’re asking me!” Bennett exploded, with unrestrained malevolence.

“Something you’ve always been envious of, Taylor”, Miriam answered slowly, eyes narrowed as she considered his outburst. Something you’re still envious of, even if Graham is imprisoned, and the attention is all negative.”

“Yes well…,” Bennett trailed off. “I guess I always saw him for what he was: insane. I’ll just go and see if everything is in order. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Wait here, please. I’ll just make sure your visit runs smoothly and without incidents.”

“That’s very kind of you but I can manage by myself.”

“Have you been here before, Miriam? No? Well, I have, and I know how to deal with things.”

“Well, excuse me, I don’t mean to step on your turf there”, Miriam laughed, incredulously. “But I still think-“

Bennett stepped inside in front of her, forcing himself to smile. The guard at the entrance stood up as they came in.

“It’s no problem, really. I just want you to be comfortable. Here. Mike will make you a cup of coffee – please Mike, treat the lady?”

Bennett broke off almost at a run towards the cells, leaving the voices of Mike and Miriam behind him. He still had time, he still had _some time._ It would be alright. Here was Will’s cell. He stopped in front of it, and for a second, he was so caught up in his frenzy to make everything right again, he didn’t even pause to take in the sight in front of him. He fumbled with the keys in the latch, before he took in the heavy silence. And then he squinted in the near darkness and saw the unnaturally still and crumpled shape on the floor of the cell, with barely recognizable features, blood caking his face. He gasped loudly, his ears thrumming with panic.

“He’s dead”, Graham’s voice came to him from further inside the cell and Bennett jumped like he had been stung, keys trembling in his hands, stifling a scream.

“Taylor?” Miriam’s voice came through to pierce his living nightmare.

He whirled around, just in time to see her come forward, and take in the incredible sight herself.

“What has happened here?” she asked nonsensically. “Who is that man in Graham’s cell?

“Miriam, listen”, Bennett pleaded. “I’ll explain everything. Just please – calm down. Let me-“

Bennett could have kicked himself later for not having the brains or the inspiration to deny everything – to pretend that this was as new and shocking to him as it was to Miriam. But he had been shaken, his expectations shocked to their foundations – all he could do in that moment was confess to placing Mole in Will’s cell.

“I just wanted Mole to punch some sense into him,” Bennett explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s been empathizing with killers long enough, wanted him to see what it was like to play the victim for a change.”

Miriam shook her head, eyes wide, like she couldn’t, or didn’t want to believe what she was hearing.

“A man _died_!” she screamed.

“Because that freak killed him!”

“Yes, but how did he get within killing distance of the freak?”

“Look, I just wanted Mole to kick him around, knock him down a peg, alright? Get Mole in here to show him what things look like from the other side of the board - the victims’ side.”

“God, stop saying such ridiculous things, is this the best you can come up with? Do you expect me to just agree with you? Are you really that stupid, goddamnit? I never understood why Jack favoured you. You’re as dumb as a brick. You and I both know you hated Graham.”

“This was never supposed to come out!” Bennett hissed between his teeth. “Mole wouldn’t have said a word, and no one believes Graham. It was airtight.”

“Does this look airtight to you now?”

“We can still hide this. We can say Mole died in a fight with another prisoner. We can make it look –“

“Shut up. Just shut up. Get out of my sight. Call back the guards from where the fuck you’ve sent them and then get out of here.”

“Miriam, listen to me, I know I’m at fault but we have to stick together now. You’re mad and I get it but just think: this will reflect badly on all of us and if you – “

“Get _out!_ ”Miriam bellowed.

“- if you don’t help me cover this up, I’ll drag you down with me”, Bennett wheezed on an unhinged whisper.

She slapped him, hard.

Bennett recoiled, glaring at her, but fear also featured largely on his features – he looked like he might reply or react, but instead he abruptly turned tail and ran out of the block. His steps echoed down the stone steps. Miriam leaned heavily against the wall, heaving stuttering breaths, trying her best to keep her composure.

A shuffle from inside the cell made her start. She had forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“It’s not true, you know”, Will’s voice reverberated strangely, coming to her from the gloom. “This man didn’t just kick me around. He tried to rape me. And he did it with Bennett’s blessing. I _know_ he did. It was his wish to see me humiliated in the worst of ways. Like you said, he’s always hated me. That was _his_ design.”

Miriam gasped and looked like she was going to be sick.

“There is no need for you to lie, you know”, she forced out. “Mole being placed inside your cell was breach of protocol enough….killing him in self-defense in these circumstances is enough to see you exonerated of this crime.”

Will looked at her steadily with dead eyes.

“I’m not lying”, he answered, without emotion.

The guards appeared, along with the paramedics, saving her from thinking of any reply. She straightened, and addressed them, in as brisk a tone as she could muster:

“Restrain that man and take him to the hospital. Check the body on the floor for any vitals.” She sighed when the paramedics confirmed that Mole was clinically dead. “Alright, two of the guards will ride with you in the ambulance with this man. His name is Will Graham, maybe you’ve heard of him, and if you haven’t, you better pay attention. Watch him carefully, and don’t let your guard down for a second. I repeat, do _not_ underestimate him, even if he is wounded, or you’ll end up like this corpse. You –“ she turned to the remaining guard, “watch the cell until forensics get here.”

They strapped Will down onto the gurney and then the ambulance door closed. Miriam stared, without meaning to. Despite her words, she didn’t think Will looked like someone who would be getting up for a fight anytime soon. He was staring blankly with glazed eyes, seemingly lost in a world of his own. Miriam choked back an angry scream of misery. Up was down and left was right, nothing made sense and nobody was winning.

~

Hannibal stirred. A prison guard entered his room – Hannibal knew him, it was one of the two men posted outside his room; he was civil to him, watchful but polite, and Hannibal liked him. He could see his colleague and another unknown guard looming just outside the doorway. He tensed. What was this to be? He had been feeling stronger these days than he let on, and his mind and body were primed for any opportunity that might present itself. His right wrist was still shackled to the rails of the hospital bed but that shouldn’t prove much of a hardship to overcome. However, his thoughts scattered and were swiftly replaced by the image of Will as he stepped into the room. The guard who had come inside shut the door behind him but did not leave.

“Will?” Hannibal said tentatively. “What are you doing?”

Will lingered where he was, not moving any further. His head was wrapped in gauze. His knuckles were a red, bruised mess and Hannibal yearned to cradle them in his hands and tend to them, like he did at one other momentous instance in their lives.

“I wanted to see you”, Will answered, finally. “For real, not – you know.”

“Of course”, Hannibal said, frowning minutely. He turned to the guard who had remained inside the room. “Can you please give us some privacy?”

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to leave you alone with him, sir”, answered the guard. He took a set of headphones out of his pocket. “But this is the least amount of privacy I can offer.” He put on his headphones and fiddled with his phone. The muted sounds of music came on.

“Thank you, Barney”, Hannibal acknowledged, with a brief smile of gratitude.

Will took a few steps closer until he reached the bed, then sat down.

Hannibal watched him expectantly. For someone who had undoubtedly gone at great lengths to come see him in the flesh, Will seemed distracted.

“I waited for you, last night”, he eventually said, lightly, not wishing to sound like he was rebuking Will. He reached for Will’s hand and clasped it, mindful of his injuries, and smiled when he felt the strong answering grip.

“I’m sorry”, Will said. “My thoughts are – all over the place.”

“Yes”, Hannibal nodded. “I can see that. Is everything alright?”

“I had trouble focusing enough to get into the mindset needed to – come to you.”

“No, that’s not it”, Hannibal said. “You’re closing off to me. There is something you don’t want me to know, or you want to deal with it by yourself.”

“No – I don’t want to hide anything from you, it’s just – strange.”

“So you came to the only person who can help you understand it, and yourself.”

Will nodded: “Yes.”

“You were supposed to be back in your cell. But now you’re back in hospital. What happened?”

“I killed a man.”

Hannibal’s eyes widened slightly in interest.

“A man who wanted to hurt me.”

“Then you did well to kill him.”

“But I didn’t _feel_ –“, Will stopped abruptly, shook his head, and tried again: “I killed him how I killed Randall Tier – with my hands. And I yearned to feel the same as I did back then. I anticipated feeling powerful, and vindicated, and immovable, and yet I didn’t. Instead, I only felt hollow misery and humiliation. The perceived threat of what he would do to me is more potent in my mind than the reality of what I did to him. He was gonna force himself on me. I can still feel his breath on the back of my neck. It sickens me. It taints me. I feel _less._ I feel dirty.”

“ _Will_.”

“I feel unworthy.”

Hannibal gripped the rails of his bed with so much force as if he would break them.

“You are nothing if not worthy. Listen to me, look at me. See only me.”

He tried to catch Will’s scattered thoughts like they were butterflies and stitch them forever onto himself. But he didn’t want to touch him to focus his attention – not yet.

“Nothing happened to you, Will. _You_ happened. This is a mere stain on the tapestry of your existence.”

“A stain I can’t seem to wash off.”

“A stain you can incorporate into the mural – the mural we’ve been painting, together.”

“Even if it is so ugly?”

“Even if.” Hannibal’s lip twitched involuntarily, gaze turned inward. “We are momentarily powerless in the face of ugliness.” His voice all but trembled with barely repressed disdain.

Even through the tendrils of his self-focused distress, Will was conscious of the storm of Hannibal’s emotions, which he took great care to contain, for Will’s benefit. It occurred to Will that here was one of those rare and precious times when Hannibal was being selfless out of genuine care for Will, without an ulterior motive, and he felt tears blur his eyes. _The mural we’ve been painting, together._

“But this feeling will pass”, Hannibal continued, gently. You have to let it wash through you and then fade into nothingness with time, like the unpleasant aftertaste of cheap whiskey.”

Will smiled wanly.

“Aptly put.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? He didn’t manage to hurt you-“

“No - I knew what he was thinking as soon as he was shoved into my cell, and I felt his intention like a sickening burn – I felt paralyzed. He tried, but he didn’t get to. He didn’t. I got him first.” Will laughed suddenly, a sound entirely devoid of merriment. “Even now, as I sit here telling you about it, it feels surreal, like I’m out of my body, looking down at this scene… of us, sitting here, me telling you about it – I don’t know if it’s the drugs, or whatever, but I feel _damaged.”_

“It’s trauma. People experiencing a traumatic event often recount out-of-body experiences”, Hannibal answered, again with barely concealed displeasure. “You unwittingly allowed this man’s intentions towards you to become reality in your mind, merely by becoming exposed to them through your empathy. But it is an imagined reality, and that only has power over you as long as you let it. You have to allow this momentary feeling of surreal detachment to strengthen you, and your resolve. We will use it, and more – when the time comes.”

“When the time comes?” Will echoed.

“Do you trust me, Will?”

Will felt Hannibal’s steadiness and confidence envelop him and he clung to it like a lifeline.

“I do”, he answered.

They talked together far into the night.

~

 

“I’ve just come from the hospital. The crowd gathered outside are seething with what looks like the beginning of an uprising”, Freddie said as she entered Metcalfe’s office.

“I know the signs”, Metcalfe replied. “Having in no small measure induced them myself at times.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow.

“But not now?” she questioned.

The lawyer looked up at her, blandly.

“Definitely not. I would not want to risk getting the crowd more worked up than they already are. It could be dangerous. The defense hangs on the edge of a knife. We can win as easily as we can lose at this point and every small incident matters.”

“And incidents just keep on happening”, Freddie noted, with a meaningful look at Metcalfe.

“Quite. It’s funny how the long arm of the law manages to shoot the law in the foot, yet again.” He snickered, but then gave a reflective sigh. “However, it would have been more helpful to my case if it was Hannibal who had received this treatment – and the resulting outrage and sympathy would have been directed at him. I would have milked that for all its worth. As it is, there is already a wealth of sympathy for Will Graham, and I have no further use for it. He’s not the one in mortal danger.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow at the unexpected callousness.

“I wouldn’t wish this on anyone”, she replied, with distaste.

“Of course I wouldn’t either”, Metcalfe replied, quickly. “Forgive my turn of phrase. It is a heinous crime. But I am a practical man, and I have to note, as things now stand, Will Graham got the kill _and_ the sympathy. But no matter. Heads are flying as we speak. The machine of the law has turned against itself like a many headed beast gnawing at its own innards. At this point, it’s like taking candy from a baby.”

“As far as I heard, only one man is getting the blame, and that man is now missing.”

Metcalfe’s head shot up.

“Taylor Bennett is missing? How very convenient for them.”

“Do you believe they _planned_ this?”

“I believe the FBI would do anything to cover their own.”

“Or perhaps the man himself realized what he’d be in for, and fled.”

Metcalfe shrugged.

“Either way, I can make no further use of this. Ms Lounds, I hate to be impolite but I am busy preparing my closing speech for tomorrow. Is there a purpose to your visit?”

She paused, gathering her courage for the decisive question.

“I would like to speak with both Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham, in the aftermath of this incident – about this, and other things. It may be their final chance to speak – relay a message to the world, tell their story.”

The lawyer offered a smile of almost paternal benevolence:

“It may be _your_ final chance to get to tell their story, you mean.”

"It might further help Hannibal’s case, Mr. Metcalfe. Please, let me have an interview with them.”

“Ms. Lounds, it’s not that I don’t want to, and indeed it is something I have considered myself –“

Freddie braced herself for the inevitable ‘but’.

“But I _can’t_. Access to them is absolutely restricted. They are the most guarded men in the country.”

“Access to them is restricted?” Freddie mocked. “Then how did that man get into Will’s cell?”

Metcalfe nodded in pretend thoughtfulness.

“A question for your readers to ponder perhaps, Ms. Lounds.”

He stood up.

“I’ll do my best to arrange a meeting – But if I cannot…”, he trailed off, “.. I’m sure you have other options available to get what you want. I’m told you’re a resourceful woman.”

~

Freddie was trembling, with anticipation or genuine fear, or what might have been a heady combination of both, as she stepped inside the small ward. A guard intercepted her immediately.

“For the record”, he told her, “I think this is a very bad idea.”

“I’ll make a note of it”, she smiled up at him flirtatiously, and glanced at his tag. “But you’ll be right here to protect me, Barney, so I’m not worried.”

The guard ignored her obvious attempt at ingratiation.

“If anything goes wrong, I won’t be held accountable.”

“I suggest you take this up with your boss, who gave you specific orders, did he not?”

“He did. And I am carrying out those orders, but – every instinct I have tells me otherwise. Be very careful.”

“Believe me, I will. You do well to heed your instincts, Barney. Thank you for your concern. Now, if you’ll allow me…” She stepped around him.

Hannibal was half lying, half sitting in a hospital bed, his right hand cuffed to the bed rails. Will was cuffed to a chair right next to him. They watched indifferently as she approached, with the kind of polite feigned interest she loathed more than open adversity, and at once, Freddie realized this would not do. She needed to get them to open up and she couldn’t do that with an audience.

She turned towards Barney:

“Could you please wait outside?”

“My _specific order_ , Ms. Lounds, was not to leave the room.”

“The door is glass. You can easily see what goes on in here from outside.”

The guard did not move.

“Please”, Freddie said. “I can’t get them to talk freely like this. You know they can’t do anything. You cuffed them yourself, didn’t you? And you’ll be close by. Please?” she smiled up at him in earnest pleading.

Barney hesitated.

“Look at them”, Freddie whispered. “They won’t talk while you’re here. Might as well not have come.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come. Because I’m staying right here.”

“Listen…I will have to call your boss and tell him you’re being uncooperative. I’m sure he’d agree and he won’t be pleased. I’d rather not make that phone call….You know I'd end up getting my way, so why not save us the time and trouble?”

Barney cast her a look of pure loathing, and turned heavily away; with one last glance at Hannibal and Will who didn’t meet his eye, he went out and closed the door behind him.

“Thank you”, Freddie said, to the closed door.

She turned towards her interview subjects. _Now_ they looked interested. Freddie congratulated herself for her initiative.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter. Mr. Graham.”

Hannibal spoke up, courteously.

“Hello Ms. Lounds.”

“Let me begin by saying, how grateful I am for this opportunity. This is the first time we see each other in many years. Things have changed. Let me assure you that no matter our past grievances with each other, I will do my best to tell your story as you wish to have it told. It’s in my best interest, as in yours.”

“I’m sure you can, and would. I’ll even give you a novel scoop. The first man I’ll be going after once I escape from here, is Taylor Bennett. And I will make a spectacle of him that will haunt your living nightmares. There is no hole in the ground deep enough for him to hide in. In fact – even if they do sentence me to death tomorrow, there’ll still be no safe place for him on this earth. And do you know why? Because _I have agency in the world_.”

Freddie swallowed.

“I’ll pass it on. You may have some trouble finding him, since I heard he’s gone missing. Or maybe you won’t."

She paused, Hannibal's intensity unnerving her. She had to remind herself he was lying in a hospital bed and in no position to pose a threat to her, or anyone else. She turned to the man sitting in the chair.

"Mr. Graham - _Will_ , I would like to talk about what happened to you. You have been forced to kill a man – again. Some people will blame you for it, but this time, I am not one of those people. You did what you had to, in order to avoid being the victim of a horrible crime."

Will looked at her with dead red-rimmed eyes. His lips moved soundlessly for a few seconds before words finally came out.

“We could use some inside people in that crowd outside”, he said, like she had been offering them her unmitigated help. “You know – people who would, _draw attention_. Have some of the guards focused on them instead.”

Freddie frowned.

“Are you – what exactly are you saying? Do you know why I’m here? I’m here for an interview. I’m not here to help you escape.”

He turned to look at Hannibal who regarded her steadily, as if she was the one ignoring reality.

She took a deep breath. Her hands twitched as she arranged her scarf.

“Look – I am very sorry about what happened to Will, but the only way I can help the both of you is if I can expose –“

“Two or three people would do”, Will continued, as if this was an ongoing discussion which proceeded as planned. “Nothing very obvious. Just be a little more troublesome, a little more noisy, – maybe they have some alcohol on them – no weapons of course but maybe they can throw a few punches if police try to restrain them? That sort of thing.”

“We don’t have much time”, Hannibal put in.

Freddie shook her head in startled disbelief.

“Is this a …. prank?”

“Do we look like we’re here to prank you?” Hannibal said, evenly.

Freddie looked from one to the other, anxiously. Hannibal steadily returned her look. Will just glanced past her, avoiding her eyes. But they both looked stern and quietly powerful. They looked _deadly._

Freddie swallowed again, with difficulty. In that moment, she readily believed they might very well escape the cuffs. In fact if they had done just that, and then decide to fly out the window, she wouldn’t have been very surprised.

She was close to calling Barney back inside, but then she chided herself for it. They were trying to intimidate her, it was a ruse. But she wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose composure.

“Have you talked to your lawyer?” she asked. “He has faith that he can save you.”

“Small fish to fry. We have bigger ones. And so do you.”

“What do you mean, me?” Freddie asked, trying and failing to keep her voice from sounding shrill.

“You’re an investigative journalist, aren’t you, Freddie? Or at least, it is your dream to be one. A proper one.”

“I _am_ one.”

“Not according to many.”

“I have covered stories ‘many’ would shudder to come up against. I was _there._ On the spot. At great risk to myself, I might add.”

Will and Hannibal spoke almost at the same time.

“Oh but the notoriety isn’t yours”, Hannibal said – “It was always a second-hand story though, wasn’t it”, Will said.

“Imagine” – Will continued, “if you could be the one to write it, and _live it_. Write it in the first person, write like you’ve never written before – like your life depended on it. Because, Freddie, in some way, it does – to make you, or break you.”

She hesitated, the seeds of doubt taking full flower in her mind. When her eyes lit with a slight sparkle, Hannibal smiled. The lure was cast. He then looked towards the window, stilling, expectant. Freddie followed his look.

Slowly, she stood, and made her way towards the doorway, meeting Barney’s look through the glass, then stepping out of the ward to talk to him.

“Everything in order, Ms. Lounds?” he asked, immediately.

“Yes. Everything is fine. But perhaps you should….”, she looked uncertainly towards the window, “maybe you should get someone to go outside, check on the crowd.”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“Just something they said….”, Freddie said, moving for a closer look, “it makes me think that maybe they have someone there right now, trying to create a stir.”

“A stir?”

Barney came up next to her, and they both studied the crowd camped outside, scanning it for any potential instigators. There were scattered shouts, but the feeling of impending mutiny seemed alleviated somewhat, compared to yesterday when they had been thirsty for blood.

“What kind of game are you playing, Ms. Lounds?” Barney frowned, as he turned to look at Freddie.

Before she could reply, Hannibal Lecter himself loomed up right behind him. With deadly precision, not one movement wasted, he grabbed his neck and squeezed:

“I am sorry”, Hannibal said, thickly, almost amicably. “But you were right. You should have stayed inside the room.”

With a sickening crunch, Barney’s neck was twisted, and his lifeless body dropped to the floor.

“You – oh god you –“, Freddie babbled. “You’re not – I thought you were….too hurt to… -- _How_ did you escape your cuffs?”

“All I need, is one hand free,” Hannibal recited, like sharing a private joke which Freddie was slow to get.

“I taught him”, Will clarified, as he came out of the room. “But I won’t be teaching you, Freddie. Here, put these on”, he said, as he threw the cuffs to her. “You’re coming with us.”

“What??” she wailed, in ever-mounting panic.

“Cheer up, Freddie. This is your _breakthrough_ ,” Hannibal said, with a very disconcerting grin.

“You’re our bullet-shield”, Will supplied, evenly, as he bent to retrieve the guard’s gun. Freddie gaped at him, more frightened by his emotionless resolve than by Hannibal’s cruel joviality.

Hannibal nodded in approval.

“ _Now_ let’s create a stir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to the actual end of this story, only one or two chapters to go! I hope I'll manage to wrap it up nicely because endings are hard!


	22. Chapter 22

Moses parting the Red Sea was met with more resistance than Hannibal Lecter as he emerged from the hospital, unarmed and barefoot, blood splattering his hospital gown, in full view of the crowd. Shielding his face from the sun, he glanced upwards and smiled, acknowledging his guardian angel, huddled on top of the building with a rifle, ready to aim and fire at whoever she perceived as a threat. But the guards were all dead behind Hannibal and the crowd parted to let him pass.

Will Graham came out of the hospital right behind him, with slightly less poise and a touch more anxiety, holding a gun to Freddie’s head and pushing her to walk in front of them.

A hush fell over the crowd as their little procession cut a path through the sea of people like a knife sinking into yielding butter. The placards waved in the wind, ‘Eat the Rude’, and ‘Dr. Lecter, will you have me for dinner?’ and ‘Love makes monsters of us all’, and other such assorted nonsense. Will acknowledged them with a pained grimace, trying to keep his gaze averted and focus straight ahead. Large gatherings of people were unpredictable – for all that they seemed to be under a spell, the momentum may swing and they might turn against the very people they appeared to worship.

With surprising ease, for someone who had spent the better part of a month in a hospital bed, Hannibal jumped on the stairs of an ambulance and intercepted the paramedic on call.

“Excuse me”, he said, politely, “but we have need of your vehicle.”

Eyes widened in comical surprise, the man stepped out, backing away uneasily.

“Thank you so much”, Hannibal replied kindly, and helped Freddie climb in. Seamlessly, like in a well-practiced dance, Will placed the gun in Hannibal’s hand and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“My friends”, Hannibal addressed the crowd, as Will struggled to maneuver the ambulance out of the parking lot, “I appreciate your kind support. And remember, when feasible, one should always eat the rude.”

Someone bounced their ‘Eat the Rude’ placard up and down energetically, and whistled.

“Are we really letting him get away?” a voice piped up from the crowd.

“Are you volunteering to stop him?” another replied, sarcastically.

“Where’s the police?? Typical!” yet another hysterical voice chimed in.

“I’ve just posted this on youtube!” someone announced excitedly.

“Take good care of each other, lovelies!” another shrill voice reverberated, just as the unmistakable sound of police sirens were heard, and the ambulance drove off in a cloud of dust.

~

Freddie sat stock-still between her two captors in the front seat of the ambulance, but her mind worked furiously. The reckless side of her pointed out that even though her hands were cuffed, she could still attempt to take control of the car….if she was suicidal, the more practical side added. Will glanced at her, as if he had guessed her mind. Come to think of it, he probably did, the bastard – damn his empathy.

“Don’t even think about doing anything stupid, Freddie”, he said – in the same tone of voice he had used on her a long time ago, to tell her ‘It’s not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living,’ - the underlying threat, just as palpable now as it was then. Freddie surprised herself by smirking at the memory.

“I won’t do anything”, she hastened to reassure him.

“Good.”

Will looked in the rear-view mirror.

“Fuck! Hannibal – you have a gun – use it! They’re following, they’re gaining on us!”

The ambulance zig-zagged haphazardly in traffic, switching lanes indiscriminately, slowed and hampered by its bulky size, occasionally brushing against cars which couldn’t get out of its way fast enough.

“I am trying to do just that. Please Will, focus on your driving.”

Hannibal rolled down the window and aimed a few shots at the police car behind them. They retaliated by shooting in turn, but neither were within shooting range.

“God fucking damn it”, Will swore, as they ran a red light and he tugged at the steering wheel desperately, to avoid careening straight into a truck speeding up towards them from their right. “Gotta change cars as soon as we manage to fucking lose them,” he muttered.

Hannibal winced, but not at the close call.

“I understand circumstances are exceptional, Will, but there’s no need to swear so uncouthly.”

The sirens were getting closer and now they were within shooting range. Hannibal bent slightly out the window, hair flying in the wind, as he aimed again – but their chasers seized their chance as well. A bullet grazed Hannibal’s temple, but it was Will who screamed.

“Get back inside, Hannibal!” Will shouted, on a tone which brooked no argument, and abruptly turned the steering wheel, switching lanes again, madly determined to put as much distance as possible between them and the pursuers.

Freddie registered the sound of broken glass amid tire screeches. She was trembling like a leaf. Her teeth was chattering. She was going to die, one way or another. Be it in a car crash or shot by her would-be rescuers, or, ultimately, at the hands of her captors. She briefly wondered which was preferable, then decided she didn’t really have to wonder.

~

“They hijacked an ambulance and drove down Mansfield Ave. The dispatched police cars lost track of them in the traffic. The ambulance was abandoned near Groves Park, where they presumably hijacked another car. They have Freddie Lounds with them. Whereabouts currently unknown, but they can’t have gotten far.”

Miriam rubbed her hands desperately against her temples.

“How could that have happened? How?”

“It wasn’t a prison. It was a hospital! We couldn’t just open fire in a hospital!”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear your excuses! I told you Lecter should have been taken to maximum prison as soon as he came out of a coma! I told you!”

“The doctors advised against-“

“I can’t believe this. This is a nightmare.”

“Look – it was a series of unfortunate events. No one could have foreseen it… nobody’s fault….damage control….need to catch up with them…”

The voice drifted off and Miriam blinked, trying to focus. Her ears buzzed and she felt a paralyzing headache coming on. Dimly, she saw another figure approach and heard a familiar voice speaking, but she couldn’t make sense of what they were saying, either. She swayed on her feet, seized by a sudden vertigo. Her arm was caught and squeezed in a steadying, powerful grip. She felt a measure of gravity grounding her to the spot, but the sick, clammy feeling remained. She looked up and saw Jack Crawford. The Guru, she used to call him. Used to trust him with her life. Do anything to win his respect and admiration. Now he looked like a haunted old man, who craved  _her_ respect and admiration.

Well, both of them seemed doomed never to earn each other’s.

“Hey, hey. Are you alright?” he was asking her, with sympathy and concern, bending to look her in the eye.

She blinked, trying to focus.

“Where’s Favelle?” she inquired in confusion, looking around for the man she had been speaking to.

“Stepped out to get us coffee. He just finished telling you that”, Jack said slowly, sizing her up with a concerned frown.

Miriam didn’t answer, lapsing again into thought.

Jack waited for a beat, then cleared his throat uncomfortably, and opened his mouth to speak:

“Miriam, I think-“

“I’m going”, Miriam suddenly declared, as in a daze, interrupting him.

“Back to the station?”

“Going after them. I can’t just sit on my hands.”

“Miriam, I was going to tell you that I think you should sit this one  _out._  You’re way too close to this. It will-“

“I’m not asking your permission, Jack. You’re not my boss anymore.”

“I’m not saying this as your superior. I’m saying it as your friend. It will hurt you.”

“How noble of you. For once in your life, you’re being noble. Isn’t that nice.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Miriam.”

“Get out of my way, please.”

Jack gripped her arm again.

“At least wait for the SWAT team. They’ll be here shortly.”

“Let me go, Jack.”

“If you give me a gun, I’ll go with you. Hell, I’ll go with you either way.”

“No, you won’t, Jack. I’m done breaking protocol and letting these two get away with murder on technicalities. We’re gonna follow the book. And you will read about it in the papers. It’s you who should stay this one out, Jack. In fact, I’ve come to believe you should stay out for good.”

She tried to pull her arm out of his grip but Jack held on.

“Miriam, I understand, and I will step down. I make a solemn promise to you right now, that after this, I will resign and not look back. But until then – let me help one last time. You need all the help you can get with Hannibal Lecter, and you know it. Remember that you caught him with  _my_ help.”

“We also caught him with Will Graham’s help. I doubt that’s gonna happen this time.”

“But I was the one who got to them. Let me be part of this chase, and then, I swear, I will lay down my arms, for good.”

Miriam smiled sadly, then shrugged.

“It’s not really my call after all. And in the ensuing madness no one will worry about who goes where. Do what you think is best.”

It wasn’t the enthusiastic acceptance Jack was hoping for, but it would have to do. He released Miriam’s arm and then he followed her down the hall.

~

Jack and Miriam’s car pulled up in front of a block of flats.

“This is the Japanese woman’s last known address”, Jack told Miriam. “Best solid lead we’ve got so far. Trust me. She has solid links with Hannibal. It’s very likely he went to her for help.”

Miriam looked unconvinced by Jack’s words, but stepped out of the car and together they entered the building.

“What if she refuses to talk to us? What if she refuses to even let us in?”

“We can return with a warrant.”

“There’s no time for this.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we?”

He raised his hand to knock on the door, but Miriam stopped him abruptly.

“Look!” she pointed.

The door was ajar. Jack nodded resolutely at her, and pulled out his gun. Miriam did the same. Jack pushed the door open slowly, then gasped in terror at the sight.

Red-splattered bits of bone and flesh were scattered across the apartment like grotesque pieces of an unsolvable puzzle. Bits of organs and limbs were rising up from pools of blood, hinting at even larger terrors hiding underneath.

“If I didn’t know any better….”, Jack murmured faintly, “I’d say a wild animal did this.”

Miriam blinked but then nodded in understanding, even as she struggled to swallow her bile.

“He knew we’d come here. He wanted to made sure we found something…something to keep us busy for quite some time.”

“He left us a trail of human remains like breadcrumbs. He’s taunting us. It’s…flippant.”

“The Ripper is nothing if not flippant”, Miriam murmured, studying the human remains. “However, I doubt….”

“Do you think the Japanese woman is among the bodies?”

Miriam shook her head slowly.

“No….”

She paused, and frowned.

“Jack, these are all parts of just one body. And I think I know whose.”

They stepped further inside the apartment.

On the kitchen table, on a large plate, there was a human head.

It was barely recognizable as Taylor Bennett – his tongue stitched in a thin strip over his lips, his eyes hanging uselessly out of their sockets, two fingers ripped off and stuck into his ears.

“See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil,” Miriam murmured, to herself.

“I think it’s too early to ascertain if there’s any part of him…missing”, Jack said, wearily. “I’ll call forensics.”

It had been sausages for Taylor Bennett, after all. However, Will’s initial instinct had been half-right: Hannibal would not prepare that meal for himself. He would feed it to Lito.

“If you call forensics”, Miriam started hesitantly, “we’ll be tied up in red tape in no time.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

“Whatever happened to following the book?” he asked, lightly, not bothering to mask the amusement in his tone.

“The trail is fresh, Jack. We should follow it”, Miriam said, a little desperately. 

Jack nodded reflectively, then said, shrewdly enabling her:

“I don’t know how Hannibal had time to do this, but it means they cannot be very far”.

“This was a rushed job”, Miriam continued, “as much as it was a show, a spectacle of brutality. As usual, the Ripper was happy to perform for an audience. But I think… It lacks the usual finesse and precision of the usual Ripper murders. This was done in brutal haste to send a message, or to avenge a code of honour….or to strengthen a bond.”

“Are you saying Lecter didn’t do this?”

“I’m saying that he didn’t do this alone. This is perhaps the second kill of what Ms. Lounds likes to call ‘the murder husbands’.”

“The second?”

“That we know of.”

“After the Tooth Fairy”, Jack nodded. “But how do you know this isn’t more than the second?”

“I don’t.” Miriam replied shortly. “But I want to make sure it is the last.”

She approached the window and looked out, with unseeing eyes.

Where would two people go, when they are the most hunted men in America? Where would they go after they had lingered, against all reason, to commit a murder which would surely take no time in being discovered – which they  _wanted to make sure was discovered_ very soon – where would they hide?  _Would_ they hide? Or would they want to stick around and watch the show?

The sudden and loud ringing of bells interrupted her thought process.

Bells, bells, bells, the words ran nonsensically through her mind.

She tried to refocus, but to her tired, overwrought brain, the church bells were a harsh, immediate sound, very loud and incredibly close.

Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme.

To the throbbing, to the sobbing of the bells. (they really were quite deafening).

She gasped suddenly; her eyes focused sharply on the building in front of her, and with sudden and joyous revelation – she  _knew._  A leap she wouldn’t be able to explain. It was a feeling she had seldom experienced in recent years, but each momentous instance was one she wasn’t likely to forget. Not guessing, not reasoning:  _knowing._

Swiftly, she turned on her feet and made for the door.

“Miriam –“ Jack called after her, in confusion.

“Call for backup”, she shouted, already hurrying down the stairs.

“What is happening?” Jack bellowed, with a touch of his old aggressive impatience.

“They’re still here!”

Jack swore and pulled his phone out of his pocket, even as he stumbled to follow her.  

~

Miriam climbed the wobbly stairs to the belfry as if in a daze, a surge of adrenaline propelling her forward. As she was climbing, the bells started ringing again, and she felt the ground shake underneath her feet. She took a deep breath and struggled on, fingers tightening on the railing. She was almost at the top. She could dimly hear Jack calling for her, but he was too far behind, and she wasn’t stopping to wait for him, not now when she was so close. A bare, sparsely-lit space opened to her view. She could see the large bells out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her gaze steadily forward, careful to spot any movement in the gloom. She stepped lightly up the few remaining steps, trying to be as stealthy as possible. The bells had stopped ringing, and a rustle alerted her to the presence of the two fugitives. She could see them now. Will was in range, Hannibal a little further to the side. For a few seconds, she toyed with the idea of shooting them in the back, without any prior warning – she could still miss, of course, but she felt ready to take her chances. She noticed their expectant posture. They were waiting for somebody. Were they waiting for her? It hardly mattered. Her arrival would be the last thing they’d ever know. Belatedly, Miriam noticed a red-haired woman handcuffed to the railing. Freddie Lounds. She had seen Miriam, but made no sound, her anxious stare drifting from her to where where Will and Hannibal were standing, still oblivious, then back again to Miriam, who frowned. Hostages always made things more complicated. And Freddie had seen her, she could testify Miriam had shot at Hannibal without warning. Miriam found she wasn't bothered by the prospect. Every moment of hesitation was a moment lost. Neither Hannibal, nor Will had seen her yet, she still had the upper hand, she could-

As if on cue, Will suddenly whirled around to face her. He regarded her steadily for a while, something in his eyes breaking to pity as he saw her resoluteness. He pointed the gun at her, slowly but firmly. She gripped her own gun tighter.

“Stand down”, Will pleaded. “Don’t come any closer. Please. I’ll shoot.”

Miriam shook her head, stern-faced.

“I can’t. Will, you understand. I can’t do it any more than you could.  _I can’t stand down.”_

She stepped closer still, gun poised.

Will tightened his jaw and fired, but not to kill. Miriam stumbled, grasping her arm, which was bleeding – she tried to aim again, and took a shot, but it went amiss. She struggled to lift the gun again, her prosthetic arm clumsily supporting her wounded one, blinking sweat out of her eyes. But Hannibal was no longer there. Swiftly as an ungodly creature, he had moved, and he was suddenly behind her. Miriam barely had time to turn, too sluggishly for her own good. Hannibal fell on her like a beast, his hands around her neck almost lovingly. She shuddered with a long-repressed memory. It felt just like back then, except now she could look into his face, she could see his eyes, and her hands dropped futilely to her sides, as she stared up at him, as if hypnotized. She had followed her death all the way up here and now she was enveloped in his warm embrace. Is this why she had hurried? All the struggle, all the pain, all the energy and effort spent – all for this. She was going to die with Hannibal’s hands around her neck after all. Strong – unforgiving – crushing – she instinctively struggled to breathe, but her mind had already accepted the futility of it, and with the deadset certainty that she wouldn’t be waking up this time, she succumbed to it, the weightless dark.

Hannibal laid Miriam on the ground almost gently. He moved a hand over her glassy eyes, sealing them shut, and arranged her limbs in an artful, dignified rest.

Will stared at them for a beat, fragments of an old conversation coming to him unbidden.  _The Ripper had no reason to humiliate Miriam Lass._  He briefly wondered about the person who had uttered these words. Who was he? Where was he now? For a few seconds, he felt as if he was drowning in a dark ocean, as if he himself was gasping for air just like Miriam had done - but then the present came back to him abruptly. There was no time.

“Hannibal”, he called. “We have to go. The entire cavalry will be here soon.”

He turned to run down the very same stairs Miriam had climbed only moments before, and came face to face with a fierce Jack Crawford, who rushed up the remaining steps and closed off the distance between them to tighten his hands around Will’s neck.

“Will. We keep bumping into each other don’t we”, he growled. “Third time’s the charm, Will. I won’t be nearly as forgiving.”

Jack pressed on Will’s jugular and Will gagged with horrible choking noises. “That’s what Hannibal just did to Miriam, isn’t it? Here’s a taste of how she felt.”

Will struggled, but Jack’s anger seemed to give him an extra bout of strength, as his fingers crushed Will’s windpipe viciously. Will’s vision blurred and his gun dropped to the ground, from limp fingers.

“I was too late to save her”, Jack muttered, tears blurring his eyes.

He squeezed mercilessly, features twisting with angry effort, and he spat out in the direction of Hannibal, who was approaching them with large menacing steps:

“Don’t come any closer. I’ll break his neck, Hannibal. You know how easily that can be done.”

“Would you really, Jack? Aren’t you in enough trouble already?”

“Oh, you have no idea. And you know what that makes me, huh? It makes me a man with absolutely nothing to lose anymore.”

He tightened his grip on Will’s throat until he could only wheeze out faintly and painfully.

“Alright –,” Hannibal said quickly. “Jack, look at me. I’m unarmed. It’s me you want. Come. Let’s have it. Just like old times.”

Jack hesitated, but then snarled and dropped Will to the ground. Will fell, like a puppet with his strings cut, and lay in a rumpled, unmoving shape, but for his rasping shuddering breaths as his battered trachea struggled to let precious air in. Jack turned to Hannibal, fists clenched.

“Just like old times”, he nodded.

They circled each other with wary menace.

‘’You know, Jack”, Hannibal said, with less than his usual composure, words laced with resentment, “people say that I am like a spider. Brooding over feasts in the dark. Weaving my web to ensnare others… But it’s you who's the spider, Jack. You threaten, you plead, you manipulate, you use others to do the sacred bidding of the Law, you make them sacrifice everything and give and give and give, you squeeze them dry, and when you find no further use for them, you discard them like broken toys, no longer fit to live in your world.”

“I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective”, Jack answered, sarcastically.

“Oh, it is. From my place in the shadows, I see things as most do not. It is not the Devil who is the spider, it is God. Leaving people empty and burned out after their revelation.”

Jack lunged at him, but Hannibal jumped aside, easily avoiding him, and dealt him a swift blow over the head. Jack reeled back, then abruptly retaliated, aiming a high punch and kicking Hannibal in the stomach with his other hand. Hannibal grunted, as the blow awakened unpleasant feeling in his old wound.

“Any war against you, Hannibal, is a righteous, holy war”, Jack said, fiercely. “A war I am more than happy to fight-”

A loud gasp, followed by a painful cough, interrupted his speech, and Jack was momentarily distracted – he seemed to have forgotten about Will’s presence, and he inadvertently turned away from Hannibal to look in Will’s direction.

It was all the opening Hannibal needed – with the same terrifying swiftness he had shown before, he jumped on his enemy’s back. Jack staggered, growling and twisting like a great cornered bear, as he struggled to dislodge him, but Hannibal was hanging on, legs tight around Jack, and he pushed his entire body weight forward, until Jack fell to his knees. Hannibal pressed him all the way down, face squashed to the wooden tiles.

Hannibal lifted Jack’s head only to bring it down heavily onto the hard floor, and bent to whisper in his ear:

“I can no more kill you than you can kill me, Jack - but I can maim you. I can confine you as you have had me confined – force you to weave your web in a corner, like the spider that you are, and wait for people to come to you for their ensnarement.”

And having said that, Hannibal grabbed Will’s discarded gun from the ground and pressed it to a precise point in Jack’s spine, pulling the trigger. Without pausing to look at Jack who crumpled to the ground immediately, with a look of utter shock on his face, he stepped swiftly aside and made towards Will.

Will had somewhat managed to control his breathing and sit up, and was now struggling to stand. Hannibal ran gentle fingers over the ugly bruises on Will’s throat, soothing the burn, then gripped the younger man’s waist with one arm and the back of his knees with the other, preparing to hoist him up.

“Don’t”, Will protested, in a ruined voice. “Jesus, Hannibal, I can  _walk_.”

He swayed on his feet, looking at Jack who lay panting on the ground, paralyzed but not dead, and blinked, as if trying to dislodge the remains of an oppressive dream.

Hannibal studied Will carefully, reluctant to let go of him.

“Alright?” he asked gently.

“Alright”, Will nodded back.

“Take this”, Hannibal returned the gun to Will, then turned his attention to the red-haired woman who had witnessed the entire scene, pale but focused, from her allotted place, handcuffed to the railing.

“I hope you got all that, Freddie”, he told her, as he made short work of uncuffing her.

She flinched when Hannibal approached her but she looked too exhausted and taxed to be genuinely afraid anymore. She nodded listlessly.

“We are going to let you go,” Hannibal went on.

“What? Why?” she panicked.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow:

“Do you object to it?”

 _“No._  Jesus…. I thought…”

Will approached her as well, limping slightly.

“That was the deal, wasn’t it? Get you a story to tell,” he told her, voice raspy and low. “I don’t think you ever imagined this was the story you’d be telling when I promised you an exclusive in exchange for your help, all those years ago.”

“I don’t even think I’m talking to the same man”, Freddie said, looking up at him, unconsciously dropping her voice to match his.

Will smiled painfully, but his eyes glittered with dark intent.

“You always thought I was a killer, Freddie. I hope you got some satisfaction from being proven right.”

“It seems you’re our last worthy opponent, Freddie”, Hannibal added, with theatrical relish. “Catch us if you can.”

Will smirked at that, and shared a brief look with Hannibal.

Freddie stared openly, at a loss for words, as they both turned and faded from her view, swallowed by the shadows of the chapel.

~

“What are you snickering at?” Hannibal asked Will.

“I was just thinking… Do you remember the chapel on the rocks, near Suvereto, and the story you told me? Maybe Freddie is Oruza. She’s cheated death twice now.”

“At least twice”, Hannibal acknowledged. Then he laughed, pleasantly surprised. “You still remember that story?”

“Yes. In fact I’ve often thought about it, about its significance and its symbolism as it pertains to our lives….specifically about why you have chosen to share it with me.”

Will paused, waiting for Hannibal to answer his unspoken question.

“My dear Will, you know I am a whimsical creature. I like to poke and prod at your fascinating mind. And as for this particular tale - like all stories in fact - it means….”, Hannibal paused, enjoying the suspense for a moment - “it means, whatever you want it to mean,” he ended, mischievously.

Will was about to reply, but at that moment, a woman’s voice was heard behind them, and he turned abruptly.

“Hannibal – ,” the voice said, hesitantly.

It was Chiyoh, looking uncharacteristically disheveled, panting slightly, eyes widened in distress.

“Chiyoh, at last, here you are, how lovely to see -”, Hannibal began pleasantly, but she shook her head, in chagrin.

“Hannibal, I could not find a car”, she interrupted him. The train – Your train – I have made arrangements for you, and you should be on it…”

“Yes, the train,” Hannibal nodded, with an approving look on his face.

“ - is leaving in an hour and  _I could not find a car_. And now, they’re on their way here.”

“Jack has probably called for backup,” Will murmured, nodding.

“We have to run, now, as fast as we can”, Chiyoh said, twisting her hands.

Hannibal stood pensive for a second.

“No”, he finally said. “ _You_  have to run, Chiyoh.”

“What?” she frowned, confused, and scared.

“You mustn’t be seen with us. Without us, you are safe.”

“But –“

“You can’t help us if you are caught”, Will told her, reasonably.

“But…. I failed”, Chiyoh protested, in angry disbelief. “I deserve to be –“

“You deserve the very best, Chiyoh”, Will interrupted her, impatiently. “And who will take care of Lito if we are all caught? How  _is_  Lito?” he couldn’t help asking.

“Affectionate and loyal. We bear our loneliness well together, but he misses you.”

“We have also missed him dearly”, Hannibal said, then he paused. “Chiyoh”, he resumed, on a quiet, serious tone, “perhaps it is a testimony of the changes that have been wrought in me, not all of them of my choosing, but which I find I no longer regret, that I feel compelled to offer my gratitude – for your past and present help – for everything that you have done for me, and mine.”

Will and Chiyoh both fell silent in the wake of Hannibal’s unlikely words. The sharp sound of police sirens broke through the ensuing silence with urgency, but was momentarily ignored.

“Change is good”, Chiyoh answered eventually, on a gentler tone than Will had ever heard from her. “For all I hold that a bird cannot change its feathers, and for all that your old feathers cling to you still, I see some are now coloured in warmer hues. I humbly accept your gratitude, Hannibal. And know this: I did it not out of duty, but out of love. I once told you that what I did, I did for Mischa. But while Mischa is a precious memory, you are alive, Hannibal, and precious to me still – despite everything; or maybe because of everything…I’m vague on those details. One’s past cannot be torn from one’s heart, it is forever with us. What we choose to make of it, is our doom and our salvation.”

Hannibal nodded.

“We are family”, he pronounced, with conviction.

Chiyoh smiled tightly.

“Run now, and never doubt your worth; remember what I told you that one time: between iron and silver. And do not doubt that we will make that train. It’s a promise, Chiyoh, and I _always_  keep my promises.”

~

Will and Hannibal stepped out of the shadows into the light of the candles. Will kept glancing furtively at the warm hue of Hannibal’s golden skin, his hair and eyes, glowing like he was a god of the sun. He felt absurdly happy to be sharing that moment in space and time with him – as dangerous as the situation was, he had never felt more confident, nor more at ease with himself.

With the corner of his eyes, he saw them carry out Miriam’s body, wrapped in a plastic bag, followed by Jack on a stretcher.

The man – John Favelle, as the badge stated, followed these proceedings, as well, then turned to Hannibal and Will, staring them down with undisguised hatred.

“I cannot  _believe_  your arrogance in letting Ms. Lounds go, only seconds after you murdered two FBI agents. Or attempted to. Jack Crawford is still alive. You failed there.”

Hannibal smiled thinly.

“I did not fail”, he answered, calmly. “Jack Crawford is exactly where I wanted him to be.”

Favelle’s face darkened in anger and confusion.

“Let’s cut to the chase”, he spat out, hurriedly, as if it pained him to entertain such a conversation for too long. “All exits have been blocked. You can choose to shoot, but it will only delay the inevitable. There are fifty men posted at various places inside the church. There is no way out.”

Hannibal looked at Will, a little desperately. Something in Will hurt and trembled to see Hannibal like this – like the memory of an evening spent on the stone steps outside a sad little house, wherein a woman lay broken. He smiled for the both of them and offered Hannibal the gift of his quiet certainty. He then slowly lifted his gun, and immediately the church echoed with the sound of dozens of guns being cocked. But Will did not point the gun at anyone in particular - he lifted his arm all the way up, until the barrel of the gun was pointed at the ceiling. Hannibal’s lips twitched in a smile, as he looked at Will in wonder. Will fired, in quick succession, blotching and tearing the dead pictures of saints and heavenly palaces. The old ceiling cracked and bits of dust started to pour down. A shiver ran down the old building, from its top to its ancient walls.

“Bring them down”, Favelle screamed. “To hell where they belong!”

A few scattered shots rang out, missing the target – people were either superstitiously afraid to shoot in a church, or wary of risking yet more damage to the old building.

“Another church collapse to add to your collection”, Will said, as he kept shooting, and shooting, not a care in the world. The ceiling was trembling, and old dust and paint was steadily pouring down. “Does this one count, since I’ve made it happen?”

Hannibal looked at him, gaze golden and bright, like they shared a heaven. Small stones began to come off, tumbling down around them.

“You are a god in your own right, Will”, Hannibal whispered to him, and the words sounded familiar. “And you never cease to surprise me, dear love.”

They rhythm of the shots increased but the mechanism of the great collapse had already been set in motion.

Behind them, there was a stained glass window depicting Jesus and the apostles, surrounded by a a crowd of supplicants. Will took Hannibal’s hand and led him towards it with steady solemnity, dust and stones falling all around them, like leading his beloved to the altar, panicked shouts of ‘stop right there!’ ringing behind them, even as large stones started to tumble down from the high ceiling. The building was doomed, and those inside were doomed with it. For Will and Hannibal, there was only one way out. 

"Ready for another fall?” Will asked Hannibal, playfully.

Less elegantly than their come-what-may dive off the cliff, with the deliberate and desperate vigor of those hell bent on surviving, they crashed through the stained glass window and were lost to the darkness.

~

The train slowed its pace as it passed habitable areas.

In the early morning, the few customers of the outdoor café watched it rumble past with the absent curiosity of the sleepy and bored. The look was returned by some of the passengers who were peering outside from the open windows on the train corridors, a brief moment of connection between strangers as they acknowledged each other’s wakefulness at the early hour.

‘ _The devil’s gonna make me a free man_ ,’ the radio in the café crooned.

‘ _The devil’s gonna set me free_.’

Bedelia sat at a table in the café, a cigarette delicately held between her fingers, staring listlessly at the passing train.

“I’m telling you, Kate, you haven’t seen Canada till you’ve seen it from a train”, a man sitting at a nearby table said to his companion, but if any reply came to that platitude, Bedelia didn’t hear it.

Her gaze was fixed on one of the passengers who had clearly recognized her, despite her new hair colour and somber outfit, and acknowledged her with a slight bow of his head, courteous but unsmiling. Without bothering to keep up appearances, she stared, mouth open in shock. A violent shiver coursed through her body, as she followed the train with unblinking eyes until it disappeared around a bend; then she finally tore her gaze from it, frowning in barely restrained despair. Hannibal was alive - more than alive, he was free - and she herself will never now be free of her everlasting fear. He'd come looking for her - there were debts to be paid. There was no safe place on this earth for her to hide, and useless to even try.

_“Ain't got no place to call a home,_

_so come on lord what you waiting for.”_

Bedelia abruptly choked on an inhale and angrily stubbed out her cigarette. Running might not save her, but she’d be damned if she’d be caught standing still.

 

Hannibal returned to their carriage, smiling softly to himself. He settled down next to Will on the narrow bunk, arms coiled around him, pressing as closely as he could, legs entwined. Will sighed contently, half-asleep.

They were clutching each other in a mirror image of their closeness on the cliff during that fateful night which ended everything and started everything, except that now Hannibal's head was pressed to Will's chest, and Will's hand was tangled in Hannibal's hair in a grip which was half possessive, half soothing. It was as if Will was guiding and coaxing Hannibal into hearing and learning the precise rhythm of Will's beating heart and Hannibal was letting him, a passive and attentive student, a beast momentarily at rest.

The train rumbled on, and the world swirled past like a mad shadowscape of contrary visions and sounds, but Will's embrace blocked out everything that wasn't the steady beats of Will’s own heart, and Hannibal  _listened_. His formidable mind traveled back to his childhood, trying to count the beats of a metronome, trying to work out the height of the hidden pendulum inside a masterfully crafted clock. He thought he might figure it out now, he thought he might understand everything, if only Will could hold him a little tighter.

Day came and went and still they lay half asleep like exhausted children after a long day of play. Night-distorted visions flew past, as the train picked up speed, merging into a blur. Shapes came into focus and then disappeared, intersped with flickering lights  - a black and white world, easy to cut through, soft like butter and just as malleable. As the train made its way through the mountains in the early dawn, a fog descended, not oppressive, but protective, to settle all around them like a blanket or an invisibility cloak.

Will sighed and tightened his hold on Hannibal, breathing softly into his hair.

Jostled slightly by the moving train staggering forward to its destination, Will wondered if maybe Hannibal's equation of reversing time did indeed work, after all. Maybe not to reverse time, but to freeze it - and the two of them - in a constant loop of invincibility - the eternal chase, with the chaser and the chased catching up and trading places and running off together, finally breaking out of the neverending game and cheating their fate.

Will saw himself on the shore, trembling and cold, and Hannibal looming over him like a lover, having saved him from the waves, Hannibal’s face changing with the infinitesimal nuances which had become as familiar to Will as breathing. He could see clearly now, Hannibal had not grabbed Will to pull him into his chariot, only to carry him, kicking and screaming, into the depths of the underworld. No, it was a ceremony far more delicate, far more significant, like a slow taming or coaxing – like a courtship. It happened because of Will’s reluctance and in spite of it. It happened because Will wanted both the sunlit earth and the cooling darkness. It happened because Will and Hannibal shared a love for the beautiful. And so they danced, around, towards, and from each other, but never straying far. And when the chariot seemed to fade into darkness without him, Will had given chase and  _jumped right in._

Will had no inkling where this train would take them, and was not even curious to ask, content to just be in the moment. He imagined waking up tomorrow on the other side, in another world. He imagined Hannibal has made a place for them where teacups came back together and clocks were ticking backwards.

Let it be a fairytale then.

It has to end well, and it has to end badly, and it has to end every way that it can.

Once upon a time, they might (they would?) live happily ever after.

He finally drifted off, and dreamed of a peaceful, neverending fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The ‘God is a spider’ idea came from the Ingmar Bergman’s movie ‘Through a Glass Darkly’  
> 2) Bells bells bells – Apologies to EA Poe :P  
> 3) The song lyrics (the song played in the cafe) are by Kaleo.


	23. Epilogue: Once Upon a Time, in Another World

 

Epilogue

Once Upon a Time, In Another World

(Three Years Later)

 

It was early afternoon when the car pulled up in front of the two-story house. Lito jumped out first, heading straight towards the lavender field in front of the house, barking happily, but changed direction with comical abruptness as a woman’s voice was heard.

“You’re here! Welcome!”

“The directions were easy to follow”, Hannibal said, as he stepped out of the car, looking curiously around, followed by Will.

“Hello, Chiyoh.”

Looking positively radiant, slightly rounded around the middle, her porcelain face sun-kissed, Chiyoh descended the steps of the house, in a yellow summer dress, and was almost knocked down as Lito jumped on her, his heavy front paws settling on her chest.

Her husband, Andrew, appeared behind her, shook Hannibal and Will’s hand, and addressed Lito sternly, patting his floppy ears:

“Easy there, boy. She’s mine.”

Lito went back on four legs and barked in challenge. Andrew laughed.

Chiyoh bent, with some difficulty, and ran her fingers through his wiry fur, smiling.

“Hello, Li.”

“It’s a wonder this dog answers to any name anymore”, Will said, in mock exasperation.

“His actual name is Encephalitis,” Hannibal explained to Andrew, who frowned.

“Unusual name for a dog”, he offered.

“Long story,” Will quickly added.

Lito went back to exploring the surroundings and started sniffing at Andrew’s motorcycle curiously.

“That’s mine, too”, Andrew pointed out.

“This is truly a beautiful place, Chiyoh”, Will said, taking in the surroundings.

“Isn’t it?” she smiled widely. “We are very happy here.”

She glanced at Andrew, who nodded:

“We have everything we need”, he said meaningfully, kissing the top of her head briefly.

Then he turned and addressed Hannibal and Will:

“I’ll go see to dinner. I hope it will pass muster with you. Must admit I’m a bit nervous it will not live up to your expectations. The dinner we had at your place was something for the ages.”

“I’m sure it will be excellent”, Hannibal replied politely, acknowledging the compliment with a slight nod.

“Come inside”, Chiyoh told them. “Come and meet her.”

  
~

The baby was sleeping in the pale blue cot, sucking her thumb.

Will couldn’t suppress the wide smile which broke on his face at the sight.

“She looks lovely”, he told Chiyoh. “What is her name?”

“I was hoping you’d help me choose a name,” Chiyoh said, glancing at Hannibal, who smiled back at her, fondly and a bit sadly.

He fingered the necklace hanging around the baby’s neck, the letter ‘M’ inscribed on it.

Will looked at Hannibal sharply, and took a slight step to the side. This was Chiyoh and Hannibal’s moment, they would name her after Mischa-

Hannibal took Chiyoh’s hand in his own, squeezing it, and kissed it.

“She is just as beautiful as her mother, and as ethereal. She deserves a name to carry her beauty into a bright future, not anchor it into the past.”

Will blinked back sudden tears and fought a sudden urge to ruffle his husband’s immaculate hair and hug him into oblivion. They had come such a long way.

“I am rather fond of the name Marina”, Hannibal continued.

“That was –“ Will creased his eyebrows in sudden remembrance, “the name of our former neighbour Vittoria's daughter, wasn't it, back in Italy?”  

“Yes. It means 'of the sea',” Hannibal answered, looking at Will, and Will’s lips twitched in a smile. “It is an elegant and vividly beautiful name. Reminds one of the serenity and wholesomeness of deep waters, and the longing for its secrets hidden within.” He turned back to Chiyoh: “It is a fitting name for one as lovely as she.”

Chiyoh blinked steadily at Hannibal, eyes misty with an unidentified emotion. Impulsively, she squeezed Hannibal’s hand in both her own and laughed in joyful relief.

“I love it”, she declared.

She then bent over the cot and lifted the child, placing it in Hannibal’s arms.

“You can hold her”, Chiyoh said, encouragingly, as Hannibal seemed momentarily at a loss.

She focused on smoothing down the bed linen and fluffing the small pillow, pretending not to notice Hannibal’s awed and overwhelmed expression, as he adjusted his arms around the baby.

“An appropriate name”, Will said, as he came closer, a grin splitting his face as he took in the image of Hannibal with the baby in his arms.

“Quite. Yes”, Hannibal said, at a rare loss for words.

Bending slightly, Will brushed his lips gently against the child's thin wispy head of hair.

“Beautiful Marina”, he murmured. “Hello there.”

 

~THE END~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys like the fluffy ending I made just for you, my darlings? Did I nail the fluff?? God I hope I did :D (If you didn't like the epilogue, for any reason, then you can just pretend it ends with the penultimate chapter, because by all intents and purposes, it should've ;p)
> 
> A very special thank you to everyone who's dived into this poorly tagged, un-rated, un-anything-ed fic and kept with it not knowing what the next chapter would bring, because I mean, most of the times neither did I - and if you encouraged me with comments, than an even more EXTRA SPECIAL THANK YOU AND MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE, because they kept me going!  
> This still applies! Don't be shy to comment and say what you liked, or didn't like, about my story!  
> I love this little corner of the internet that's the WG/HL tag on AO3 and its wonderful writers and readers, so this is my gift to you. So if you liked it, then my work here is done done and done :D Oh yeah, and #ItsStillBeautiful (of course it is)
> 
> Oh yes and - if you think I should add some tags, please let me know, I'm really not good with tags!

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the poem 'Persephone lied' (source here: http://spuffyduds.livejournal.com/38351.html - it's a new interpretation of the myth and I think it's a fun one, tbh!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART: Blood/Chest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154795) by [nephila_clavipes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nephila_clavipes/pseuds/nephila_clavipes)




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